Harvey S. Mozolak
goghing through a wheat field
thick with yellow tassels
repeatedly bowing in prayer
loudly shuttling
in the passing wind
the knotted tzitzit
free from the fabric of slavery
psalms the graduation of grain for meal
there he spoke of the harvest
hands rubbing and the parting
sifting seed falling
into baskets
poured onto stones then ground
wet with milk and salt
pounded down kneaded and formed
baked brown and sweet
in the fiery heat of Passover preparation
later some left forgotten
kernels at the table’s edge are swept
and gathered into women’s hands
and sown in the soil of the neighborhood
where the fringe of his cloak
once swept the earth
and was touched for healing
where now on bare knees
he scrapes the streets
and stumbles
his own blood watering
the unraveling world
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