TO MY SON

The forgiveness I\'m asking from you,
my son, dangles from a fruit tree.
When I arrive to pick it
the branch escapes me.

The forgiveness I\'m whispering to you
swims in the stream like a colorful fish.
When I bend to catch it
the waters recede.

But instead of forgiveness
I find myself rolling words
like stones
on the hill of my tongue

up and down
down and up.

לִבְנִי

לִבְנִי