There are songs I can’t sing without crying,
poems I stop reading seized by reverence and wonder,
roads I walk where I think only of home, where her face prevails

My mind is a jumble of now and then, I am son and father,
mother and daughter, rolled into one on a timeline that wraps
around itself, coiled – unlike a serpent – more like an amulet

I cry for them and for how they cry for me, I assume someday

Brother and sister in a field afar, away from whatever is to come after,
holding hands, silent in a ring, their palms adorned by the signet that binds them,
one for all, yet the many for whom?

There are psalms I can’t sing without crying,
scriptures I stop reading gripped by profound desire
to understand the road we are on, homeward to where we are heading

Chagall 2020 Health, Peace and Love to All