AGAIN

Once again the earth asks
and the sky answers with a white lie.
A cloud, that beautiful broom,
far-fetched as a feather,
moves the questions from side to side,
making room for something that you cannot find.
It’s the lightweight things that send you flying,
those that used to move through the air.
All is forgiven, except a closed door.                                           
Everything makes sense except for the slam
followed by nothing but total silence.         
For days now, all the questions you ask
are fired in barrages, more to fend off
than to find out. Exhausted and stubborn, the mind
hoists sandbags, piles them up                
along the walls, blocking every opening,
leaving open only firing slits.
But the sentry at the heart’s gate                                                      
stupidly checks
only those who leave.

שוב

שוב