Votives of Love
Cascading morning glories
edge along a telephone wire.
A few vines swing from the big-top,
reaching upward without a safety net,
Cars drive with dinner
written on their windshields,
which is when I hear
the shofar echoing inside my heart,
as Lawrence’s blood pumps
through the tubes of a dialysis machine.
The touch of Torah is soft,
but it’s only the cover that my fingers caress.