Jerusalem is a port city on the shore of the ages of ages. The Temple Mount is a great ship, a pleasure yawl In splendor. From the portholes of her Wailing Wall, jubilant saints Peer like pa**engers. Hasidim on the pier wave Goodbye, yelling hurrah, bon voyage. She Is always docking, always embarking. And the fences and docks And policemen and flags and churches' high masts And the mosques and the smokestacks of synagogues and the chanteys Of praise and mountain-billows. The ram's horn sounds out sunset: one more Has set sail. Yom Kippur sailors in white uniforms Ascend between the ropes and ladders of tried-and-true prayers. And the profits of market and gates and goldencap domes: Jerusalem is the Venice of God.