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Seasons of the Moon Poetry


He caught himself red-handed
In the mirror.
With an empty bottle in one hand
And an empty heart in the other.

He had gazed too much, too long, too far
And was lost in an endless feedback
Of reflections, howling round.

On a shore in distant world
Where all the broken images
Finally are washed up,
With loving hands,
she is silently
mending mirrors
and turning them into glass.

This poem originally appeared in SEASONS OF THE MOON for Elul 5758.
Written by Rabbi Yaakov Asher Sinclair.
General Editor: Rabbi Moshe Newman.
HTML Design: Michael B. Treblow

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