Eight Minutes to Passover 2020

Careless birds flock and call under the great clean sweep of sky 

Ignoring the Angel of Death as she glides silently, dark wings outstretched 

Not my Death. Not my Angel. There’s that apple tree I was talking about. 

Faaark off faaark off faaaark off  

Down below, our houses bear invisible marks  

There are dolphins in the Venice canals  

The wind in the trees is louder than traffic 

A pile of fallen leaves swirls and lifts and falls again as the Angel passes 

Remember when we rubbed up against each other 

Remember when we owned the sky 

Remember when 

The Angel hovers 

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