When the taste of honey is fading away
and my (tired) eyes are gazing deep
into the wide-open eyes of the night,
you return from the Mountains of Longing
and nest in the southern part of my body.
You return recycled and smooth as paper,
the same and always important anew,
hurtful and ripping as shrapnel from grenades
sweet and distant as honey’s taste
essential as cigarettes and as coffee
for someone accustomed to smoking and drinking
in a life in which your limp shadow is lovely
in the wide-open eyes of the night.
Translated from Hebrew by Vivian Eden