the deepening ground

Among the Tombs

Father, hold my hand in yours;
I fear the many tombs!
Do not fear, my darling child,
What will not be exhumed.

Father, keep my by your side
for still these graves I fear!
Do not dread the silent stones
For always I am near.

Father, hold me in your arms;
I shudder at the thought
of what lies mould’ring ‘neath the earth
in Death’s slow mortal rot!
Do not yield to terror’s grip
from things now dead and rotten,
but rather fear the living hate
that will not be forgotten;
dread the malice that defiled
these eighty Jewish graves
and tremble at the enmity
that never dies away.

Ice Fishing

I’ve risked it,
ventured out late in winter
to fish,
a fiddler on this roof of ice.

At times I sit
peering intently at the many lines
dangling dead weight,
my own sundial:
shadow moving from hole to hole.

More frequently I dizzy myself
tending the tugging lines,
the tilts forever tipping up,
always afraid one will slip away,
bait me and pinch the minnow.

At night I plunge into frigid dreams,
a metal jig fluttering and falling
just above the lake’s floor,
a tangled marionette
set to beguile a school of largemouth bass

‘till I startle awake
at the gentle touch
of my four-year-old son
asking what’s for breakfast.

Perpending Eternity

Twice a year
the unflagging sun stoops
to peek into the dark
inner chamber of the Great
Temple of Ramses II.

We are simply fortunate
to share in the ten
minutes of illumination
before the sun straightens up,
smiles wittingly,
and walks off perpending eternity.