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The first rain reminds me
Of the rising summer dust.
The rain doesn't remember the rain of yesteryear.
A year is a trained beast with no memories.
Soon you will again wear your harnesses,
Beautiful and embroidered, to hold
Sheer stockings: you
Mare and harnesser in one body.

The white panic of soft flesh
In the panic of a sudden vision
Of ancient saints.


Translated from the Hebrew by Barbara and Benjamin Harshav

Added: 9 Jan 2002 | Last Read: 5 Sep 2008 2:41 PM | Viewed: 3963 times

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