deep magic

This is the garden I found that breathed life into this concrete city of mine. I was glad to find her. She reminded me of the old friend I left outside of the city. She reminded me of the garden we're going to find.


I'm ready for sweet smelling flowers, honey suckles to wrap myself in. Walker, my darling lean withered friend. Smooth back and twisted forelock. I will fall on your back and ride until our sweat runs together. We'll explore the red clay of Alabama again, find buck eyes shined and pocket them. Bring apples and peanut butter for the both of us. Play in the Saugahatchee creek, have oat bran and honey with Fred at his Feed n' Seed. Alabama air is running through my lungs already. Hashem's mystery is waking up. My fingertips remember their blackberry stains, my toes have not forgotten their rusty clay stained hue, and my curls are begging to hold onto soggy afternoon air.






I'll take you to Jerusalem one day, we'll canter past the wall and kneel before the hill. Eat manderins where they were first rooted and travel with your old brothers to the tents of the people who never forgot how majestic you are. The bedouins, bringing us in for goat milked chai and rest for your sand worn hooves. The old air, thick with Hashem's magic, will bring out your words and we'll talk for days on our crusade in the first earth. Find the waters that ran deep and gurgled through the dry desert for Moses. We'll be drunk on the Spirit of that water and remember our Names, remember what we were made for, and wander closer to kingdom, closer to deep magic, closer to the way things always were, and we'll find the garden.