Small voices fly

through the world

of my leaves tonight.

My hour of separation

comes in the profile

of a chain saw,

each tooth finely

tuned to my branches---

What will you say

to the children

who follow echoes of owls

through my rooms?

Finding a great absence,

Rebbes davening

in the heart of the forest

wrap themselves

in shawls, recite

Kaddish,

Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mey rabbah…

Tell them  

the silky fringe

of their prayer,

their bodies’ sway,

lulled the eagle

in her rough house.

Geri Rosenzweig is a regular contributor to ForPoetry.com.  Click here to read more about her work and publications.

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