At the corner of Kaplan and Ibn Gvirol,
you stand next to me waiting to cross,
a tower of olive with dust on your boots,
and I barely subdue a primal urge
to wrap my arms around you.
Soldier,
what can I say to you?
For centuries, we had no defenders,
just amulets and allies,
and now your body is but one brick
in a massive wall of protection.
There is a prayer for seeing a rainbow,
but what is the prayer for seeing a soldier?
