Week 7

May 23, 2015

Week 6

May 16, 2015

Week 5

May 10, 2015

Day 29

The most important
plays them back.
Who knew him best?
Meditative anarchist,
architectural factory worker
spilling seed.
Treat documentary
with note.


Day 30

the couple in front of me
unwraps their party sandwiches
and then a man answers his phone
as the movie starts.
an uproar from the crowd
because we’re all in this together.

i purchase a concoction of substances
from the drug store
to make myself feel healthy,
drink, get tired.

On the screen the Jews are being exiled again.
We talk of their nakba
and there is also our own.

Day 31

The confusion
of a sea lapping up on shore,
of one woman changing places with another
as if in a dance.
I slow down for the checkpoint
and then continue on again.

Day 32

The car rumbles along the hill,
days crashing together
and the song melding with mourning.
This small street as it blossoms
is mine without wrestling.
Everything I’ve learned
I’ve forgotten in time.

All my students are dead,
the bonfires being kindled
just up ahead.


Day 33

Last night every new person
asked, what is this
holiday about?
and I won’t answer.

My grandmother asks me
to put one in for her every time.
I have a confession
I exchange notes.
It’s too extraordinary
placing mine alongside,
across barriers and divides
that we erect.

I pray for many things
from up close and from afar.
It’s easy for me to travel
between Jerusalem and Bethlehem,
only 7 km

Like the notes in the Wall,
my film is short.
shorter than how long I’ve spoken already.
Fit your prayers in alongside.


Week 4

May 2, 2015


Day 22

oh no too late
scraping together
things that have happened
already like the picture I took
that I will only
later, once
you are already married.

Day 23

and scratches
and light through the field of vision
a woman waits for the subways
one moment at a time
I check my phone 52
times a day
press my finger on the button
it reads me
and the flecks and debris.
I turn my head
and look again.
I can tell by the sleekness of car
that now is now
and the tress still waver
as the train goes by.


Day 24

You reached out
your hand
and I was startled.
You said you wanted
an encounter.
It’s different.
I don’t touch women
without consent.

Day 25

I have lived so long already,
so how to say it all at once?
Between the two goldplastic cherubs
they gave me as high school reward,
popularity, talent
and the crisp pages of buried friends,
I am comforted.

Day 26

To show for all this
only a dollar and a play
where I am an architect, a doctor,
I build a screen and dance in front of it
kicking scattered loonies
across the grass.

Day 27

the audience is always hissing
and it reminds me that I’m at the right place
with the right hat.
I pan the camera to the left
and as everyone exits the cinema
a man sits at the back
wiping commotion from his eyes.

Week 3

April 24, 2015

Day 15

A small space
to write a word,
a cloud
on a pen.
There are secrets
to be uncovered
in the most mundane


Day 16

Two plus two,
me and you
and our shadows
walk through a wall.

Day 17

Old jeans left
in the washing machine
grow moldy
and refined.
Spin cycle stops,
we rest
and grow
to each other.

Day 18

Looking up biographies
and opening lines
of city corners,
paving wages/
waving pages and postures,
not really sensical,
acting the way things seem.


Day 19

A new song in the evening
from the same womb.
“Each child so different
from the other two”,
the father tells the rabbi
before passing through.

Day 20

Align, if you can,
a century of resisting
to the things that come anyway.
The outer shell and inner core
twist what is inside the acorn.
Shrubs left in lightless
Fall in line.
I put it to you as a challenge
of swirling
time. Snap,
move slowly or
rush down the hills,
all the breaks
still giving way to the force.


Week 2

April 17, 2015

Day 8

Tell me the options again,
in order.
And how many ways
are there to document a life
and the point of art?
As the sun sets,
let us decide.

Day 9

Build line
of house.
Let’s say it.
Corner lift
at roadsign.


Day 10

cracking sparkles of morning
tempo chirping drift
inside each hand is another.
each car drives in its lane
and another.

Day 11

There is effort in waiting
There is effort in waiting
Just as
There is effort in birth.

Day 12

Fresh neighbourhood scent
breaks a bit too loose.
Houses fly by like dreams
And a fantasy
of life with you–
a park muddy and wild with spring rain.


Day 13

The corner drives
at the speed of effortly
ordered life.
The sun
waits, breaks, cracks.

Week 1

April 9, 2015

Day 1

After we are done
Grandmommy remembers:
I’m ready
I’m ready
I’m ready

Day 2

The thing I remember most is sleep.
Many things happened today
and a broken heart.
The things
I count,
I name.


Day 3

If I could either
clean my room
or go to therapy
I would clean my room.
Or go to therapy.
I could do either.

Day 4

Emails misting
through my fingers.

Matching moments escape,
More awake
more asleep.


Day 5

Am I this moment’s watchman?
A distraction crouches by the door.

I scroll through pages,
hold on to
an impression
of sudden change.

I have an uncle
who forgets everything.
From his hospital bed
he squawks at me.
Where is my brother?
He’s dead.

Day 42

May 8, 2013

Day 1

March 28, 2013

A spiritual seeker once came to a female lama and asked, “How do I attain enlightenment?” She told him, “Sit in a cave for one day and don’t let your mind think a single thought”

The man went into the cave and after the day ended he exited and confessed “I have failed. Many times my mind was filled with thought.” 

The woman told him he had tried valiantly. “Try again,” she told him. “Return to the cave and this time make sure your mind is filled with thought the whole day, let not a moment of emptiness occur.” 

The man went into the cave again and after the day ended he exited and confessed, “I have failed. Try as I might to fill my mind with thought, there were many moments of emptiness that I could not prevent.” 

The woman replied, “You have again tried valiantly and indeed have learned your first lesson– The mind is a beast not easily conquered, yet its nature is never constant”  

Day 49 (7 Weeks)

May 26, 2012

It was revealed to me in a dream that my fate had been sealed for exile. I fasted all day and then realized– I’m ready. I didn’t tell a soul.  I’m superfluous here and besides, I can’t do my work properly, so I decided that I’ll go back to the place where I was born. I passed my wife in the kitchen. She looked one way and I looked the other. How can it be that I still dream of another? Am I not grateful for being brought here? She stays at home when I go out and wander the streets. Tonight there is learning in every corner of the city. I try to say something kind but falter.

Families are finishing their meals. I hear the song of ascents that David sang to bring up the water from the lower realms. “When we returned to Zion we were like dreamers.” A friend on the corner tells me about Hassidim who would kidnap Yeminite Jews and bring them to New York so they would not be ruined by the churnings of this land. They would tell the children’s parents that they had been saved. I wonder if I have been saved or ruined by these years here. The daughters of Jerusalem are out in the streets wearing white. I follow one until I see another. And follow her until I see someone new.

I think I see she for whom my heart yearns but it is a nun on her way to a monastery near David’s Tomb. She is going to mass for Pentecost, to commemorate the Divine Spirit resting on the seventy elders who left their houses and began speaking words of redemption. And even though they were all men of Jerusalem their language was miraculously understood by all.

I saw that it was midnight and I looked up to the sky, to catch the moment when the heavens open so I could pour out all the desires of my heart. And suddenly there was a sound from above, at first like a tearing and then like a rushing wind or an engine roaring and it filled the place where I was standing. A soldier came up to me and asked what I was doing. I looked at his gun and began to speak. He was astonished and I realized he couldn’t understand me. I didn’t have a good answer in any case. He asked to see my ID. I had planned to be jailed, but not like this. I would sit confined at my own choosing. There was nothing he could do because I am doomed to leave this place. He concluded I wasn’t in the way and I continued on a little while longer.

I passed through the empty market and returned home. My bags are packed and I looked at the painting on the wall of Mount Sinai. The two tablets reminded me of my mother and father waiting for my return, or perhaps of my two brothers, each more upright than the next.  Everything is frozen. I have been given one face and have made myself another. A siren rings out and I know my prayers have not been answered. I tell my wife I am leaving but she has already taken all of her things and I realize I have spent this whole year alone, with only the groove in the bed beside me.

People always ask me what I’m doing. I can’t come up with a good answer. I have been trying to say these things with the hope that some of them will reach your heart. And if you remember them when you sit at home, tell them to your sons or daughters. And I hope that you’ll think about them when you inevitably go on your way as I am about to do, when you fall down or when you rise up again.

From the plane all the angles are different. I’m going up and going down. My breath rises and falls. You too will inevitably go your way, just like I’ve gone mine. Hidden in the engine’s roar I notice my mouth filled with laughter.


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