Don’t despair if even
at this late date
the verbs and vowels of Hebrew tumble in your head
like an unyielding combination lock.
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Our story is about travel
from the outside in, and
who among us knows
how far they’ve come or
where the far border of
this country lies?
Only our mothers and fathers, whose
bones are the loam of prayer and myth.
Who live at the sibylline center. What is
our portion?
the patient turning of dials.
the anticipation of a voice that leads us out in the morning,
and the will to wander without arriving.
