Or
The sefer leans heavily against the shtender
while i drift through the sun-drenched window.
i fly out and high
across tree-spotted valleys and cityscapes.
i contemplate:
such a gift is this world
one could lose himself in its roaring possibilities
or consider rather
the giving and the Giver
reading the card before tearing the box.
And looking straight ahead
I find myself
in the middle posuk
of the middle perek
and breathing
deeply.
Yisrael Kashkin
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