Tel Aviv 1935

The roof-poles in thosedays

were like the masts of Columbus,

every crow on their pinnacles

announcing new shores.

Along the streets strolledknapsacks,

and words of a foreign country

plunged into khamsin days

like the cold blade of a knife.

How could the small air support

so many recollections

of childhood and of withered loves

and rooms grown empty elsewhere?

Like blackening snaps in acamera,

their images reversed:

white winter nights across the sea,

rainy nights of summer,

capitals dark at dawn.

Behind you foreignfootsteps drummed

the marching songs of an army,

and on the sea you thought you saw

the church of your old town floating.

Not for a long time now…