It is noisy
and I’m waiting for the Sabbath.
Green things spring out of the Earth
to breathe of the cool air;
iron sheets are resounding drums of pounding droplets,
but the radio drowns them out.
For many hours I am cooped up in a basket
and as I glance at the window I glimpse at vitality.
In my dreams I see ribbons of dreams wafting through
the solemn stillness of the night shadows.
The trees outside stand guard to the holiness of the hour
while I shuffle my feet catching up with the lateness of work.
Every day I wait for my Sabbath.
I will share it with the old man pushing the sluggish cart
in the muddy market.
It will silence the wailing in my ears
and the groaning in my neighbor’s heart.
It will snuff out the greediness of my world.
(composed 3rd week of July 1997)