Every morning from his room
I can hear the deed:
Boaz at his Jewish prayers,
Bound in phylacteries.

He is dead, who doesn’t want
Comfort from someone;
Ajax called out to the skies, not
For god, but for his mom.

In my neighbors’ yards, their dogs
Are left there all alone:
And if you’d walk past you’d say
There was no master home.

Dogs don’t deal in silent prayers,
That’s why they psalmodize
Abandoned in their fenced-in yards,
Every single night. 

Palm fronds grow; and then they
Bow under their own weight.
The sidewalks all are mushy with 
Their fallen splattered dates.

Don’t you see how all this fruit
has cracked its own sweet head?
Boaz mumbles; lorn dogs bark;
The trees are ripening!