Not Evening Not Morning

By Student Rabbi Stacey Robinson

It was not evening,

nor night,

not quite –

although the sickle moon,

dusted in orange,

kissed the passing clouds


It was not morning,

tho the sun

stained the sky


and shivered there,

on the horizon

that was sea and sky together,

and neither sea

nor sky



And so we prayed,

gathered at the water’s edge,

in the not-evening-

Almost morning.

We opened our lips

on the border

of land that moved

with fluid grace,

next to the dark glass

of an obsidian sea

that rippled with

the laughter of the stars

that skated its smooth surface.


And all the Hosts of Heaven

waited in expectant

and shimmering


in that not-quite moment,

that sacred place

of not you

and not me;

That place where God lives –

at the very edge

of Heaven

and Earth,

That is the center

And calls to us

With bird song and wind

and the rippling


obsidian sea.


And there the shofar called

A single note,

Stretching out unto



There was evening.

There was morning.

One day.


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