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 3^rd week of July 1997)