Site-specific installation at Congregation Magen David of Manhattan.
The firstborn cried
in carnelian, red streaked
and crowned with prophecybefore his hot tears could
blind him: See, a son.
Bloodred and breathing.
Pulled into the world
like a fistfull of mangroves,his depths masked with a surface
of garden: flowering just above
where his roots clenched, cool
as dark soil and crucial. Groundwater.
Heir to the seeds of belief, grown up
on the same vine his father once planted.
His legacy is gemmed the way pressure
will burst open a stone to its own star.
poetry by Sasha Leshner