Jerusalem

I am more than perfection.
I am more than this collection of flaws,
This connection to everything.
I am more than this aloneness.
I am more than this skin,
This ad-hoc gathered wisdom.

I am more than these eyes,
These legs,
This intake of breath,
This next exhalation,
This ever-blossoming unfolding of roses,
These lips,
These whispered secrets,
This belief system,
These questions,
These pages and pages of frustration,
This name,
This ethnic identification,
This cleverness,
This age,
This height,
This weight,
This awkwardness,
This grace,
I am more than this confusion.

I am more than this empty hand
Pressed against your flesh,
I am more than the resultant electric resonance,
I am more than this resounding chorus of yes,
More than your deafness.

I am more than this broken heart,
This gutterpunk of a muscle
Spurt-bleeding in the filthy street,
Pumping clumsy and inconsistent rhythms
Into the bass drum of pavement.

I was made for breaking.
I am built from
The raw material of utter destruction,
Every fissure
Bursting with crumpled petition.

I am more than your denial,
Than this tragedy of
Exile-induced blindness.

I spill fire.
I am Jerusalem.

 

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With gratitude to Rabbi Doniel Katz and Rabbi Yona Aryeh Refson. 

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Photo: The Kotel by Elisa