sometime in early November, TSH" 'A
I'm thinking about poetry.
There's a yellow cat
sleeping in the grass below me.
My spotty coffee in my spotty mug
sweet.
The door's open and
the light is perfect
second-hand sun
reflected from my next-door neighbor's windows.
"You're very affected by environment,"
he told me
inquisitive, "I like that."
inquisitive, "I like that."
and I grasped that cotton duve
as I lay atop feathers in my bed.
I wonder how long it may be
before I stop getting turned on
from him loving me.
I'm thinking about poetry
and how the Rebbe entered my dreams last night.
Impersonal, frightening
and full of love
nothing had to be said.
He sat at a desk
writing letters of tikkun olam
My question hung
in the thoughts of my dream
never asked
never answered
never mattered.
