David Goldstein

He grabbed me by the throat
and shook
We were left turning

He on his poetic cloud
I with my bony feet stretched out
We kicked each other

below us the grass shook
in the breeze of crows
hunting low for spoilage

Trees their tops at eye level
burst with eyeless blossoms
their branches licked by fire

I'd met him on the sidelines
of a fight
It was dark

and He came out of nowhere
rooted for neither side
impartially lifted the loser

to his knees
We hung in a standoff
Our arms in chokeholds

around each other
but since He was omnipotent
and I was out of shape

it was natural that He should let go
It was not the impossible
force of that hand

like a car the moment before
you are hit by it
but after the hand was gone

and I was still dangling
out of nothing and into nothing

David Goldstein lives in New York City.

Image: James Turrell

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trans. by Jonathan Boyarin

February, 2004

Erev Temima Fruchter
December, 2003

Surrender Niles Goldstein
November, 2003

Trembling Before You Matthue Roth
September, 2003

Stones of Jerusalem David Goldstein
August, 2003

fish rain Susan H. Case
May, 2003

yom kippur Sara Seinberg
April, 2003

Carrying Light into Dark Times Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi
October, 2003

Primal Scream Judaism Temima Fruchter
October, 2003

Angel-Man Abraham Mezrich
September, 2003

Miracles Abraham Mezrich
March, 2003

April 2004

Persistence of Vision
Dan Friedman

Avi Levy

Reading Toqueville in An Election Year
Michael Shurkin

Dead Sea
Debra Bruno

Life During Wartime
Jay Michaelson

David Goldstein

Our 450 Back Pages

David Stromberg

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From previous issues:

When I Met Humility, I Saw Letters
Abraham Mezrich

Anything You Want to Be
Ben Cohen