What Receiving Torah Sounds Like: A Shavuot Poem

a brown feathered sparrpw sits on a wooden fence
The birds who woke me early this morning
(so near my window, left it just a little bit open)
sang, sh’ma, sh’ma, sh’ma in sweet bird-notes.
Listen, they said.
So I did.
It was so quiet, I could hear the purr of the cat
at the foot of my bed.
A sound of pure contentment,
of gratitude for something treasured.
I found myself wishing my human body had this skill—
to express a prayer as simple and unabridged as this.
And as I began to slip back into early morning sleep,
I heard my own breath,
sipping in the breeze from the window,
elements and water vapor,
Divinity itself.
Then the unbroken rush of praise exhaled,
thank you, thank you
for every last bird.

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