On the sixth
day after the storm, crusts of snow peppered with soot and fir nettles,
footprints caving into walls of crystals melting into slush. I clutch
this scene like a snapshot, seen inexplicably in the empty eyes
of the dead.
dawns on me
I've distilled all integrity in the steady
Spring will return as belief-systems
fall to the height of their tales.
The rabbi looked so pleased
when he said, "Come back at noon, then
the community breaks in, voices are divided and speech is pluralized.
The group functions as an instance of enunciation that would be
the modern equivalent of the (collective) myths of antiquity and
the (anonymous) epics of the Middle Ages. Having made a break with
any authorial regime, you can say Kaddish for your father."
I didn't have the heart to tell him that blood-lines are ambiguous
as "the hands of time."