Frayed Light. Yonatan Berg

TIMING

      Now my needy self, the wasted one, appears.

      Now to be the one who crosses the dirt track

      on his way to the ends of the evening, a boy

      escaping home, close to silence.

      Now to remember the young man entering

      the Church of the Holy Sepulcher,

      the smell of incense, the oil, flickering walls,

      the great theological ennui,

      the stones of the tomb blanching in damp darkness,

      the great theological ennui and prayer,

      now recalling prayer when pebbles of time multiply in pockets,

      the stopping at night, the aching body,