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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: 13 Oct 2026 12:15 PM | Viewed: 7815 times

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