Those head bindings rolled
and laid aside in a separate place,
the way the sympathetic gardener
gently calls her by her name,
the journeying stranger on the road
who joins their sabbath evening meal,
the way he breaks the blessed bread,
those charcoal embers on the shore
with fresh-caught fish, new baking loaves,
such incidental moments – told in passing –
more than any thunderclaps and shattered stone,
trembling guards and radiant angels,
are the elements that draw me close,
set me beside those glowing coals,
mouth filled with breakfast bread and fish,
eyes opening – slow but steady sure –
to the rising of the sun.
