Aug
3rd
Mon
3rd
The Night Before The Wailing Wall
However many thousand years of
hopes
and then me pressed among them.
Cracked gulfs between the stone lie
vacant and waiting.
Are the stones themselves stiff
as parentheses holding
the dreams?
Or the dreams
archers bows pulled
taught and ready to
pounce;
arms to ancient bricks
lest they forget themselves and
crumble into
memory?
