Complete with panoramic view,
I’m at the back
waiting for something to happen,
waiting for mystery to creep into the now.
Tallit and kippah cocoon the universe
from within and without.
Niggun and butterfly songs emerge
from the chrysalis of each faithful heart.
A divine fluttering divine takes flight
harmonizing with an ancient tongue.
Week after week, I wait at the back,
expecting the mystique to grow old,
but it is I who grows older.
Each week, my soul ascends to Sinai
to commune with the tribes.
I stutter in their primal language,
calling upon my spirit to listen.
Years have passed,
I’m still at the back of the synagogue.
Abraham speaks about Melchizedek.
Ruth says we have common ground.
Moses prescribes two tablets a day
To stop me from digressing.
I wonder if Hagar minds that I borrowed
her name for the all-seeing.
There is no end to backbenchers like me
Who are charmed by this quiet flight.
Who are still at the back end of things,
where everything is backwards.
The end is the beginning, left is right.
Undone and mystified by divine reason,
we bask in the source of all things
who watches us create fragile wings of our own.
