I'm soul-tired
before this wooden Jesus ...
Time is frozen
in St. Peter's Church
with frost flowers on the windows
What is Time?
alone and calm
before a leafy riot
of garden plants ...
my old friend and Time
are of the same race
If no one asks me, I know; if I need to explain it to one who asks, I don't know.
a mile-long lineup
of trucks at the checkpoint
in smoky sunset
inch by inch Time crawls through
the Kerem Shalom Crossing
What then is Time? In the present, the past presses forward; the future leans back toward me. I stand between them—no nearer to an answer than frost on glass.
