Study the lessons of your solitude,

the severing of soul from flesh

like a cocoon unlatching off a branch.

Study the weight of your brow,

the dust upon the window of opportunity

covering your eyes like frost upon a lake.

Face yourself, emptied, erased, saline,

sorted by your fears like post stamps in a collector’s album.

Study the longing.

Every other night

words come to me

to make love

I to my words am a mistress

I meet them with passion,

I look into their eyes,

slowly,

staunchly

stare

They kiss me till I bleed,

till I am no longer woman,

but only moans

knitted

from words,

from ears to lips, to thirst

if only the light will not come,

so I could write,

and free myself from the past

with words

kissing,

biting

neck.

Time fades

into fissures of reveries in space,

it is neither eager nor scared,

only striding along the trail of schism;

it is no longer simple

to pass a scribble.

Time skips

between parallel rails,

strewn with strains of neediness.

Time tirelessly

arranges misgivings on shelves

breaks the whiteness of the page,

only to be swallowed by the silence of seeping trains

and the clipping of wings of airplanes anticipating miracles in vain.

Time forbreaks the wait only to be forsaken.

Time is forlorn and desperate but ready to reawaken.

With two lips

I spoke two tongues.

At times they were far apart,

as when one cries out in astonishment.

At times they would bend in unison,

as in a smile,

seeking atonement in synonyms.

Often, they would rest in silence, one on top of the other,

the heart alone spoke the tongues of its hopes,

and at times they would come together,

crazed,

as in a kiss.

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READ HEBREW ORIGINAL

Match after match he lit

and stubbed me out on his skin.

at the nape of his neck

I left lips that he kissed.

I knew

that even if I dug my teeth into his jugular

and wallowed in his blood as a beast in mud,

I would not see

a soul.