——–They heard the voice of God moving through
——–the garden at the breezy time of day…
——————————–—Genesis 3:8

By the look of the trembling
bittercress, I would say: God

wanders the garden. That,
or a March wind leaps

like a dog at a thousand
green shins. Let it be wind.

And to every blast, every
ecstatic slap, let me say: Here.

Here I am. Though here
is a room and now a lost

hour and every man longs
for a glimpse of his God

in the suburbs. That, or he
hides in plain sight, dug in,

like the poor pachysandra,
that some people mistake for mint.

 

 

 

 

Benjamin Shalva’s poetry and prose have appeared in the Washington Post, Awakenings Review, Peauxdunque Review, and Ponder Review. A rabbi and hospice chaplain, he is the author of Spiritual Cross-Training and Ambition Addiction (both from Grand Harbor). www.benjaminshalva.com