In a Constant State of Grace

 A field of sunflowers leans East towards the rising sun,
 mimicking one, yellow bloom of souls
 ascending the hills, lifting themselves, and                            
 taking flight into the heaven’s glow.

 Soft and holy is Her light.
 Just ten people hold up the world,
 never will their name ever be revealed,
 until, She, descends the heavens one dark night.

 Clouds hang low upon evening city streets,
 past the window’s manikin presenting silky sheets.
 The sound of life’s in the swoosh of cars and the curtain’s fall,
 of all those names of who once stood for an Aliyah.

 We declare our faith in tens unspoken, 
 to pray for the cycle of life to begin again.
 Lift our burden that makes us opaque, 
 let us be as transparent as God in times of need.

 A marching band coincides as the mourners pray,
 drums beat, beat where now, no heart wakes.
 Celebrating a life with clarinets, long trombones, 
 silver flutes, and the sweet saxophones.

 Suddenly the clouds dissolve into a surging sea,
 there is nothing left, but  just you, and She.
 Her voice becomes a flowing verse
 as Her light comes through Her words.

 Please God, be gracious to us, 
 though, we are just dust from dust.  
 We’re floating now in frothy waves, davening,
 God save us!   We’ve been blinded, and cannot see!

 Save the holy men who beg for food!
 Save the children with no home to call their own!
 Stay the crippling hand of death’s disease!
 Keep us in a constant state of grace!
             Within You, without Your name in outer space!