Hindu Kush, New York
In an intermission from sleep
I count Marco Polo sheep
Find my way to this screen
See what wisdom I may glean
While it's dark and I'm alone
A situation not unknown
Why is it that I'm awake?
It's an emergency brake.
Wake up! My soul calls to me
My American angelica tree
Sleeplessness is my burning bush
My moment of Hindu Kush
I don't need to eat or drink
Thoughts bleed like indelible ink
I worry about wounded friends
Ponder the goodness we intend
Hope for the welfare of us all
Pray this isn't the last call
posted by rabbi neil fleischmann @ 12:55 AM
1 Comments:
Here's a lovely poem from Richard Wilbur that I read on another blog:
Sometimes, on waking, she would close her eyes
For a last look at that white house she knew
In sleep alone, and held no title to,
And had not entered yet, for all her sighs.
What did she tell me of that house of hers?
White gatepost; terrace; fanlight of the door;
A widow’s walk above the bouldered shore;
Salt winds that ruffle the surrounding firs.
Is she now there, wherever there may be?
Only a foolish man would hope to find
That haven fashioned by her dreaming mind.
Night after night, my love, I put to sea.
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