Threads

Body heat, detached from the snuggle,

I thank you, I say

Putting my hand to the plug

To stop the charge, so it will cease its current

And light a new light in the cell that stilled

During the hours of my sleep.

Between bright green and the wall’s lilac

I recognise the socket for the charger and at once discern

Between the sense of eloquence and sense of solitary light ringing around

Which is deep in my inbox.

My right hand takes hold of a black box, binds a strap

And turns about the body heat. My eyes look to the glass

Where my longing is etched

And chicks chirp an umbilical cord of song in me.

I rose early tied by a cord to your wellbeing

Which is unknown,

To forty hidden days

To the fear of gathering clues that go to waste.

I choose to believe

That I can weave and patch the breach

That you have surely risen now to your day’s routines

But you look to the vines on the hut

And keep your peace.

This very morning you skipped in Judea’s hills

In a one-speed on a drop five times your height.

The morning service I hallucinated to exist

In the walls of a prayer house, with panes facing the dawn that comes

You wound up with a black ratchet

Binding two wheels to the chariot

And wheeled about.

Between my imagination and the dawn: who are you?

And between dawn and the rub: Who made you?

We asked a hope –

You in the water of the Lemon Spring and I in the waters of the River Prat

Rise, dry off and look.

We did not know that when the phylactery straps came to your hands

Threads started pulling to the ground,

To what were the possibilities

And baggage became surplus to what was required.


Translated by: Atar Hadari

Read Hebrew Version: חוּטִים

 

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