A short, sweet melody jumps & twiddles its thumbs,
mildly enjoying itself until an outburst of
happiness like pigeons or blackbirds
clambers out its own spaces making winds.
I wanted to write a Song of Exile:
a melody had wrenched me and left a pang.
A song of exile doesn't celebrate:
a minor key that does not drag, it just continues
breathes in and out the past.
We chant along in shul, once happy then sad, in cycles.
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short melody twiddling
an ouburst of happiness
like pigeons or blackbirds
clammering out its
spaces, making winds.
Inside the Buenos Aires synagogue
I write a Song of Exile:
wrench and pang
a non-celebration
of a minor key,
a knowing sigh
we chant, once happy
sad, in short cycles.
I dunno. Thats what stood out to me.
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