A Letter (or two) to Bat Ayin

O, my daughter, speak to me, unto me
Tell me of all the things you wish to say,
Of the dreams you dream and the hopes
You hope as you lie under the starry blanket
Of heaven and as you walk the tall grasses
Of earth, your arm outstretched caressing,
Feeling life organic. Please, let your grapevines
Down and shake your leaves loose, let your
Fig-tears fall and your date-smiles laugh
Please, I want you to know me, I want to
Know you. I climb your hills and bathe
In your springs, I embrace your soil and
Kiss your stones, I hold your hand and
Walk with your every high and low, I
Look into your face, shining, glowing
The sun your lamp, revealing you, healing
You, feeling you as you grow and blossom,
Flourishing in dire conditions or even
Unconditionally, just doing what you do
Best, life, taking nothing and making something
(Some might even say you are the daughter,
The child, of nothing, of infinity endless)
You, my lovely, take a stony, stony silence
Hill and make it a vineyard; you, my heart,
Take an arid desert and make it a paradise;
You, my soul, take a forgotten promise
And make it a promised land, a home for
Peace and reality, a present and future
Perfect like your sunsets, yet never fading,
The colors not frozen but neither burning,
Just feeling, knowing, being…

You are the pupil of the eye –
I wish to be the pupil of you:
Suckling, licking every fruit you teach,
Clinging, hugging every root you inspire,
Wanting, needing every seed you plant,
Every sweat you drip, every work you
Labor, everything you do and everyone
You touch. Down in the valley and up
On the peaks I call to you, yearn to you
For when you will be the everyday norm
Not the exotic exception. I need you to
Call back, say hello to me, speak to me, tell
Me of all the things you wish to say
Of the dreams you dream and the hopes
You hope as you lie under the starry blanket
Of heaven and as you walk the tall grasses
Of earth, your arm outstretched caressing,
Feeling life organic

I think you already have:
wwwwwwwThe root
wwwwwwwAnd fruit
wwwwwwwwwwwwOne

O, my daughter, when will we
Acknowledge the pupil of our
Eye and see that you are really
The daughter of us all?

Wildlife

It calls, does the wild (and not only from London) –
But it gets my voicemail and leaves no message after the beep
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzNor a messenger
– What the beep?

Strong vocal cords has the wild; bar chords stronger yet –
Still I cannot hear its message.

(For some odd or G-d reason I think it’s more
A problem with my ears than its tongue.)

It grows on you, does the wild, and you can only hope to

zzzzzzzzzGrow on it.

Like a dizzy spinster it is ungroomed: hair
Tangled; cheeks
Naked; paintless
Lips; lipless
Derrières.

Unlike an elevator filled with great-aunts and queen-wannabes
Pampered in Hegai’s spa, no fumes or perfumes emanate from
Its being – only the smell of nature unsprayed, untouched by art

Official substance.

It’s a wildflower and a wild guess:
A wildflower because nothing can stop its growth;
A wild guess because no one can predict its path.

You are afraid of its potential: you want to flip the letter,
The Double-You –
But were you really born to be in sipid, in control,
To live in postproduction?

Don’t walk down its path –
zzzzzzzzzzzThere isn’t any!
But run along its every curve, over untrimmed edges and
Tall borders, ivy crawling inhibitive, inhibition crawling away.
Bust through convention centers and concession
Stands. Cross-don’t-cross? I’m never cross and crosses

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzAre for roads

Life is wild: a wild look in its eyes, a wild beard on its face –

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzDo you want to tame it or live it?