Slabs of immense lime
tell a story in themselves
of a people born in blessing, displaced, and back again.
The air is thick with the low murmur of prayers,
praise, and passion
of flowing tears salty as the Dead Sea
split as the sexes
scarves to the right and skullcaps to the left.
Messages of longing spill from its crevices
hoping to reach the Source in haste.
I press my forehead against the cool stone
Whose energy enters my trembling skin,
eyes shut and senseless of the passing time
while wishes from within pour outward
to join the dissonant harmony
of voices ancient as the stone.