Nothing belongs to us, but we belong to everything.
In my house lives a tree. It is the mother of my mother and of her mother before. I slipped it a sip of water. It spoke to me of your words, of two-faced Janus, master of gates.
Are your eyes fixed on the horizon? I flinch; daring to admit I cannot bear the sun's sideways winter glare.
Has an anthem blossomed in my blood, or is it an echo of an irrepressible lament: that, having once tasted the fountain of your verse, the damage is irreparable?
A body is a red scarf recently washed, draped on the balcony--but the soul, a rogue wind, seizes the body in its teeth, thrashes it about. Between the two of them, someone dreamed of us together.
Green. The one in my wild mother's branches is granting droplets of green, returning me to my raw and tender mind. If there is left any holy space on this wounded earth to grant you refuge, let it be so.
the song of a shell sapphire melting inside jade a color unnamed Ofra Haza's version of this song defies categoriz...
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