From the heights of Yom Kippur we fall
into the embrace of a world that shakes,
structures so airy and light
they don't hide the autumn gold
of Berkshire hills, the white press of sky.
Funny to think of dwelling in this house:
hardly enough wall to call it a house,
these two-by-fours we hope won't fall,
roof of cornstalks open to the sky
rattling when the wind makes them shake.
Around me the trees are strung tinsel-gold.
I inhabit bright blocks of light.
After these holidays my soul feels light.
I asked to dwell in God's house
all the days of my life; received gold
fields shorn to stubble, apples fallen
sweet when the trunk gets a shake.
Always perfect, always changing, the sky
rolls back day before darkness, sky
over this little house bedecked with light.
I gather willow, myrtle, palm; shake
them clasped with etrog, the house
for that tiny nugget of tart fall
wrapped in nubbly fragrant gold.
It's the eighth day of festival. I shake
to think of God pleading "don't go." Golden
is our time together in this house,
talking face-to-face beneath the sky.
My tallit skirts my shoulders, light
as cornsilk. The leaves fall
as birch and maple shake.
Time to ask for rain from the desert sky,
changing our prayers with the city of gold
where the limestone pinks with early light,
where once upon a time we built God's house
and learned all things must fall.
I shake my lulav beneath the cloudy sky,
bless the One Who creates this gold light
Whose house is in my heart this fall.
Please support independent publishing and buy a copy of the book if you can: Open My Lips at the Ben Yehuda Press website, Open My Lips at Amazon.
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