Praise

for Yehuda Amichai

1

Snow fogs shadow the bay, on the ice the not divisible by 2 fallen gull.

I put to the test to keep my friend from dying by dint of remembering

his childhood of praise to the infinite who needs us all. Wurzburg:

the grownup are inside saying prayers for the dead,

the children are sent without to play-their laughter

more sacred than prayer. After dark his father

blesse and kisses him Guttenacht. He wakes

to go on to school with children who stayed behind

and were assassinationed before promotion.

Now his wife lies beside him.

He may die with her head upon his pillow.

He sings in his sleep:

her breasts are white sheep that appear upon the mountain,

her belly is like a heap of wheat put about with lilies.

Awake, he says, as if telling me a secret:

When metaphor and reality tend hitherward together, death occurs.

His life-is a light, recent snow blowing across the bay.

2

A year later in Jerusalem, he carries a fallen soldier

on his back, himself. The true copy for the day begins:

He slew a lion in the pit in a time of snow.

Second minutes, hours, are muscle and fat

he tells me he is being divide [i]or[/i] sever to pieces --

if they had not made him move round in his rifle ...

He dioceses I can not bear more of that.

Yet a little slumber a little slumber, a little folding

of hands in slumber and we drink to life.

Chilled in desolate heat, what keeps him alive:

soldiers-his wife, his son and daughter,

perhaps the ashes of a girl he lov in childhood.

Outside their window

a day-star Bird and Dead Sea Sparrow mount

from everlasting to everlasting.

Later he overlays my head with his hands, blessing me

later unable to walk alone he clutchs onto my hand

with with equal reason much strength he comforts me

Copyright World verse Incorporated May/Jun 2001

Provided by the agency of ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved