No it is not Elijah at the door.
It is only the shadow of a wish.
Why must I come open again,
So another dream-thing on a
Passover breeze can softly rearrange
The hair on my neck?
It is only the breathing darkness,
Not even a shallow caress.
His cup remains full and untouched.
Tonight after I recount the tale of my slavery,
I will pour that nectar on the garden floor.
My Rose of Sharon will grow there
And I will trust her to whisper mine,
Among the shining names.
For although I made nothing of me,
My brother died to make me a Kaddishin.
So as I will for my father,
Perhaps an orphan will for me.
Shoshanna walked to Motsa through
The eucalyptus groves.
From ice and destruction
She brought forth the Garden.
She lived on the hill and walked the
Streets of Jerusalem,
Counted the towers and waited.
After eight decades I found her.
We stood side by side
On the Mount of Olives
How I dream of lying down
In the grove there.
Of Judea baking my bones,
Turning me to chalk.
How I long to sit alone in the desert
I will sleep under the Red Mountains.
Sinai will rise under the full moon.
I hear my people sing of the goat and lamb.
That is the voice of my true love
Surging over the surface of the Red Sea.
Make me something worthy.
Remind me not to wander,
Bind me to eternity.
I surrender to you, my fate.
Let me come back and mingle
What is left of me with the stones and sand.
I will wade into the Jordan
And let it remind me the way a river can.
Elijah serves another.