Sunday morning

Complacencies of the peignoir

Movement, and complacency will not hold

Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair

Coffee in a cold store, staring at Staring

And the green freedom

Tomorrow's anxieties: teaching, and teaching

silent Palestine

This morning we had guitar, piano, Hebrew songs

'Is not the porch of spirits lingering

I left the children at synagogue, and after a walk "Myths of Britain"

It is the tomb of Jesus, where he lay.'

Not my messiah, not for me.

isolation of the sky

My teaching is all the religion I have, and all my poetry.

Deer walk upon our mountains

I don't know nature, and I do not love it, and it is not god

Ambiguous undulations

But maybe poetry

The need of some imperishable bliss

But maybe poetry

Not as a god, but as a god might be

In this life without permanence, where every trace fades, where Sunday morning and reaches only towards Monday's class and is leaving the children in Hebrew school: its flight towards literature will someday also fade.