Kol Nidre
The cellist’s bow
carves a ballad out, of
blind struggle, of
birth, and how we were
knit together on
Sarah’s loom.
My voice, alongside
your voice, combining
our voices join the lament,
the L’chaim,
that carriea us through the
hedge of flames, stretching back
to our beginning.
We are,
golden bells and pomegranates,
adorning Sinai’s
Hem.