In honor of Irving’s 80th  Geoffrey Hartman

Jerusalem Winter

A whited sun, whiter than the moon.

Whitehot: icehate, icefire.

Collapsed hopes, shuttered lives, end of dream.

A miracle, this land, a bloody miracle.

Fumes of passion, exhaust of too much love.

“Love is Wrath quenched”: contempt, pity, fear.

Crying from the ground, so much of bloodshed

who can hear? Papery prayers

litter the Kotel cracks. Ululations

greet young Davids coming of age.

Do nations have a soul? My soul mourns,

troubled unto death. Watch with me,

stay me, faithful words: keep me company.

The blank sonnet runs out, addressee unknown.