Every seventh sundown

we are sent a hint of heaven.

It’s all we get for now.

It must suffice.

A weekly Spirit shower.

A blessing.

Gods gift in a mitzvah made manifest

in the movement of a clock,

in its ticking and the circling of its hands.

Time is Holy till sundown,

when the world must wake as from a dream,

and its longing begins again

for the coming of that sacred day.

We must live our mundane lives

through the rising of six suns,

while bounty in the boon of heaven

waits in the wings for its cue.