I sit on a balcony in living Jerusalem,
speaking to my father
He explains the thought of the world
and a return of light to dark corners
as he softly teaches
the breeze whispers in response
carrying from the east a
scent of roasting meats
I breathe deeply
and close my eyes
the fires rise
not consuming our homes
but warming them
lighting them
and Zion’s wails become cries of joy
on the Ninth of Av
