Ba’al T’qiah (One Who Blows the Shofar)

A storm wind comes from the hidden north

filling my mouth, my lungs,

with dust

and sand from Sinai.

Then a great cloud of black, a no-thingness

that deprives me of sense, of touch and taste,

of sight, smell and hearing.

Then a winding of burning.

No, not wind, but flame:

black fire on white skin.

Sparks engrave the Torah on the heart’s interior –

One long name of God,

a string of jewelled consonants.

Then a white glow around the fire,

a crown of white.

And there is God

laughing

like an exultant king

after the heat of battle.