Ritualwell

Tradition & Innovation

Succor

Woodcut letters from a printing press.
We have a new language,
Have taken new names.
Words resound
Through utterances renewed.
 
Draped open, the Torah frames, 
Our bedposts
Their cyclical story revealing
A midrash made flesh.
 
Light sustained on high
Arrives wrapped in shining new letters,
Dripping sweet fullness
Into our mouths.
 
Wherever tongues trace,
Symbols uncover.
Through ribbons of words
Bodies are bound.
 
Whenever words arise,
Language lies loosened. 
With vowels, our new clothes 
Finding consonants, our thighs.
 
The corporal ever hungry,
Sustenance sucks on sound,
Nourishment drawn from every tone.
 
Creation comes
Before dawn,
A deep tuning,
Fingers conducting a chorus.
Bodies of work orchestrated.
Recited; remaking.
 
This the song,
A not-so-familiar refrain.
Here, in the music,
Of the well-fed feeding.
 

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