Havdalah is all about burning one’s hands with hot wax
And spilling wine as the Shabbat ends
when we stop practicing perfection
and step out into the confusing confection we call creation
where there is never enough light,
and it can get really smelly,
and from time to time we could use a drink
for fortification, not sanctification.
Havdalah is all about drawing lines
following nature’s contours
and hoping to make sense of it all.
The stars would be flattered to know
That we use them to mark time,
(Celestial intelligences might have egos after all.)
Havdalah is all about nothing
And everything that flows from it.
Havdalah is the rest-stop between
There and Here
Light and Darkness
The Circle and the Line
The Real Dream and the Dreamful Reality
The Truth that Is and the Truth that Will Be,
The world of holiness and the world of possibility.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem