Ahuvati, min hashemayim, crowned queen of the reed bed
from whom all things are born and cut:
your face like frosted glass appears one winter night
and vanishes beneath the light of morning.
I have no voice to give to you
but speaking through the dawn in frantic reverie
and clutching to the threads of moonlight
as they're drawn into the West.
I fled into a land of fleece and worship.
I fled into the earth where earth was sanctified
and man made sacred, min ha'adamah,
and saw upon the palace steps
the mystics twirling;
I have seen your words embroidered
in their velvet, gold, and silk
and have spun your name in jewels
around my forehead;
but the night unfurls and finds me speaking, hushed and frantic,
and your name has vanished from my lips.
At the place where the earth arches up to touch the sky,
I found a temple there
and stood, as the world in bated breath
awaited your command;
surrounded by the sacred and
There is a mystic here inside me:
there is something of the sacred in my breast.
Her face like frosted glass appeared to me one winter night
and vanished with the coming of the dawn.
And like a flame, I was extinguished,
and arose as a vapor in the air
arching toward some phantom draft
to find her.