visiting the wailing wall

When the long shadows stretch to the east

red light coats the wailing 

stones

Glued only by wishes

one on another they form a

wall.

The two, most precious to me, separated by a fence 

boys' notes - girls' notes - bulging at the same  

seams.

As the Muazins spill their laments 

into Aramaic yowling and

honks

The guns pointing down, the bibles up 

for last prayer in dusk 

light.

Mount Moria, where the angel held back the knife,

the dome of the rock is still piercing purple

sky.

With the seven gates behind and the rising moon ahead

we silently leave

our wishes squeezed in  

stones.