If you give me a knife I will draw you a map, all of it yellow—

Summer makes no promises and the drive through the Jordan valley  is fever after fever.                                                                                                                                    Everything is burning.

The window tells a story that the mouth cannot– it has two sides

one side tells an ugly story                                                                                                     the other side tells an ugly story they think is beautiful,                                                    or the equivalent, worth telling.

A white line through the valley was once a pipe.  And here the remains of a Roman bath.

A man walks in the distance, his sheep in tow. He doesn’t see us.

In the evening we eat a shoulder of lamb.                                                                        Someone points to a spot in the sky, a corner of darkness,  and hollers.

Somewhere far away they hear his cry and think it’s an animal.                                 They grab their knife.

We use our knife to carve the meat they killed with their knife.

A different animal.

When we swim in the lake when the winds are high

we die a sudden death—

tomorrow the radio will report a terrible accident

But for now while we are still alive

we dip our heads and move further north.

No matter

how hard

you try

to close your eyes

that see  through

the golden skin

hairs flutter

like a pair of lips

threatening to let

everything in

no matter

how hard

you try

No escape from the past (photos by Roi Kuper)

The night has sent everyone away,
they are hidden somewhere in the corners of their sheets
in a space that isn’t mine,  isn’t yours either.
I don’t know you
but I stared at the sea you gave me,
the many seas you laid side by side
across the open room.
I was hoping to fill the empty shelves
with water and sand
but the sea was low, and barely a wind blew
and the moon was invisible
through the large cold windows
by my perch on the couch.
I kept on looking just as you told me
night after night, sea after sea
until my mouth began to open.
The thirst that keeps us awake
longs for a sip
from the small waves where the light hits
that were pushing the water
slowly towards my open lips.

–Michal Lando