On Rabbi Kook's Street <br />I walk without this good man-- <br />A streiml he wore for prayer <br />A silk top hat he wore to govern, <br />fly in the wind of the dead <br />above me, float on the water <br />of my dreams. <br /> <br />I come to the Street of Prophets--there are none. <br />And the Street of Ethiopians--there are a few. I'm <br />looking for a place for you to live after me <br />padding your solitary nest for you, <br />setting up the place of my pain with the sweat of my brow <br />examining the road on which you'll return <br />and the window of your room, the gaping wound, <br />between closed and opened, between light and dark. <br /> <br />There are smells of baking from inside the shanty, <br />there's a shop where they distribute Bibles free, <br />free, free. More than one prophet <br />has left this tangle of lanes <br />while everything topples above him and he becomes someone else. <br /> <br />On Rabbi Kook's street I walk <br />--your bed on my back like a cross-- <br />though it's hard to believe <br />a woman's bed will become the symbol of a new religion.<br /><br />Yehuda Amichai<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-rabbi-kook-s-street/
