3 Poems
Kaddish
I dream silent songs
and weep lost years
for seas that did not bloom
O child of mine
soundless you still sleep
liquid, in my heart
the day of your passing
thrones wept
O child of mine
for artificial fire
each night
I pray
I am pressed and flow liquid
I am pressed
and flow liquid
in his olive skin.
His hands chalices
cup my breasts
His heart a poppied river
carries me.
Words fall
wingless and I realize -
I am rooted
in his earth.
Liturgy
With eyes downcast,
I glance at you
and grin.
In the background,
an abandoned chapel,
guarded by an old lock
the colour of Byzantium.
Through a broken window
eyes of Saints watch
our liturgy.
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