high (w)hol(e)y days

Scraps of paper, tattered dreams of written monuments, how do we recover our natural rhythm, why are we always looking back?
Sat Jeremy in the synagogue. Sat Jeremy and listened. Looked Jeremy listening, obedient. Plucked notes on a tinny harpsichord the thoughts in mind accompanying. Seated across Jeremy worshippers the nation, faces ancient they pout and commiserate.
Preached, preached preached, Rabbi thought Rabbi not only to him: abstract beginnings spiraling a net weaving their claws around a tale a parable who materialized in the center, grasped, grasped to shake the hand and meet the eyes of the congregants, leaning forward. Tale conjured weave morals into hearers, weeping redeeming working into congregants.
Clanging acrid sounding sonorous “someone has hit the bell I know it… no” silent, listen. Shuffle of constancy. Mid-priced leather shoes a-carrying their owners synagogue. The whistle of eternity too, the hiss of breath the exhale of a slouching blow up doll, beckoning calm. Only the between-ness creates tension, and peace itself cannot rest.

A doubt periscope helps her see around corners. Guiding with claws of emotion the wolf-like cat peers above the surface from inside her submarine. Drifting on tides of days, laying back on the propellers, confident.
Scraps of paper, tattered dreams of written monuments, how do we recover rhythms? Why are we always looking back?
Preached, preached preacher but she didn’t listen. Obedient and fulfilled, she fidgeted nearby the congregants who sat around her. Experiments strode through her mind, puppeteering messianic gerbils, guiding darling toads of knowledge and kittens of science. Thoughts of Jeremy wafted like ghosts through the halls of her Dutch Colonial house and more concretely jumped like children at the windows waving their hands beyond the glass.
Cascading, multi-colored, tight shirt and determined pout to take those thoughts from adrift to astern, letting a smile nourish the downtrodden notions, selling loss to optimism at a healthy profit.
Clanging acrid sometimes sonorous, someone has hit the bell. Silent, listen, listen and do.