Kol Nidrei: September 2001
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All vows are cancelled now,
all words undone like chains
that snap, their lockets smashed.
All sentences cut short,
main clauses powerless
to govern their dependents
or lead the voice in prayer.
All syllables annulled.
Verbs lag. All images
envisioned by blind eyes.
All pencilled lines erased that trembling hands composed.
My court, a grove at sundown:
Sunrays pour through stiff branches,
unearthly yet of earth;
stump of a fallen oak
whose mate once flourished green
and now looms red and yellow
like towers burst into flame.
No ark with scrolls, no benches,
no prayer-shawls, holy books
or ram's-horn. Only trees
stand witness in this silence
and autumn's humid air
blurs a bark's crevices.
As this cloud turns to vapor,
all forms circle in smoke,
all promises unravel,
all pages torn to shreds
and blown to drift in wind
whose words cannot reveal
the truth of what I've seen.