In the season of briefer days and deeper darkness,
as catkins rattle their emptiness
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and winds and fog swirl past, swiping
damp cold across the world,
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beaten like olives
down to our essence
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we reach into our heart-pockets
grasp the or ha’ganuz
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and rise.
Spreading form and meaning into the darkness,Â
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we call dormant brightness into being:Â
lighting a candle every night,
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creating joyous acts of resistance,Â
with every waxen rod that blooms into flame
