The train is not delayed – I just wanted to sleep.
Beside me, a gentile dressed as a rabbi and this
morning, a rabbi as a gentile.
Of course – we are at war, so the firearms
are pregnant and a gang of halos in
camouflage sleep on one
station or another.
Bodies on top of bodies. Fully
clothed and writhing. One short americano,
freeze halfway to death and two large brown
army horses stare down at me. Everything
as intimate as if I were asleep. My own
costume, between my ears.
Peel a tangerine from holon and – with
sticky fingers, bum a cigarette off some
dangerous strangeness
on a wall.
In the muslim graveyard I finish
off my thinking. The loss of something
bothers me most, when I have lost
only part of it.
Where did you hide my passport?
crackers again. For dinner. Answers
inside an empty, shut fish moth.
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