We'll naturally kiss
and caress when that scent
or that one song is there

Your love is sweet, our life is good

We hang streamers
where we know each other
and keep exploring

Your love endures, our life is sweet

We don't need French kisses
we just caress each other's backs
if possible under the shirts

Your kisses are sweet, our life is good

Our fingertips find
their way, skin to skin
They hang streamers

Look at her, she loves

him, a wonderful feeling --


to hold forever.

Viewpoint: I follow

his gaze, he's looking for two --


and leaving nothing.

Israel, the state,

is not like other countries --


it is an old pain.

Writing to share
anonymously being
heard and read
Nothing more, please
      
No incense with plumes
for me, I share something
of all of us, I offer
mirror images of life

They are pieces
of my existence, not of me
At most, a single thought
comes from me

Suddenly my hat

flies up, how ridiculous --


I am standing here.

In the staff car you

don't see much of the city --


you see only cars.

His caressing hand

over my body, followed --


too tensely by me.

I see the late and the early
people in lighted rooms
where the curtains are not closed

I see men in the twilight
penumbra of the morning
talking on the benches

in the circle of the square
that then starts singing
in the trees that live there

Everything keeps going on
from yesterday to tomorrow
without beginning and end

There is no direction
everything's going by itself
its divine way

The wall without end,

without gates and hope, carries --


many illusions.

I have a cold, and

I enjoy the drowsiness --


It gives me shelter.

Quarrels with father

are rotten: they're not allowed --


to have a bad end.

When young, I took the world
inside, filling me
And every day, fed
by age-wise women

I was happy to grow, greater
than Alexander the Great
Baruch and Master Kong
I married and had children

Homely and ordinary years
of peace and fulfilled wishes
It just continued, the people
with whom I spoke, the places

I kept coming, the classes
I started to have, the world
I handed out and the soul-
snips of myself

that I began to leave everywhere
to get empty of life
that stands still when it doesn't flow
to young bodies

This box is empty:

it is my life, it's my art --


of giving away.

The empty square, rained

clean, at home we lay down and --


share our happiness.

Look at me closely,

for you, I want to be real --


See me as I am.

Safely walking the streets
on the sidewalk, looking around
what's there, seeing it
as something special

Warming myself by the fire
and gazing into the flames
Letting thoughts be consumed
without missing them

Listening to the waterfall's
rush, rain
Washing myself clean
of what is to come

Circling like a hovering bird
seeing everything and nothing
Until an insight stirs
that I dive into

It happens by itself
as if I am capable of something
understand something, am something
beyond my reason

Scents so sweet and soft,

drifting through the stone city:


sidewalk gardens bloom.

Everything passes,

so we have to build bridges --


roads over the sea.

When she goes to sleep

she babbles about today's --


experiences.

Balloons sail above the sea
and in my mind I sail along
into the world, sailing over
flapping laundry

Our shadows glide
through the gate of the winds
breath of the sun and the moon
the whispering of secrets

Our shadows drift
over the sphinx, so that her
blind eyes seem to blink
at us for a moment

The hands of the clocks
on the towers also stand still
and then they **** forward
a little, around

Along the river,

I am cycling and flowing --


Breathing together.

We are witnesses

of Jerusalem, the place --


where there is no peace.

Unforgettable,

I would give examples if --


that were really true.

The sweetest words I invented
were for daddy, they beat in my heart
but now they are for you

Now everything is different
now I know I'm only
now an adult

My brain is converted
and it knows it
my ******* are different

and my arms will be clumsily
empty awaiting you
when you are elsewhere

I am happy and will be
when you are, we breathe
together forever

Parenthood: watching

my child, the vanishing point --


of my caring thoughts.

Our relationship

endures, because it's Living --


Together Apart.

She doesn't say a word,

I have to guess what she likes --


and what she doesn't want.

Times have changed, people have not
so I read, shelf after shelf in many languages
in books preserved for centuries
so self-evidently describing
the world as it once was

In the evening I experience their adventures
at night I dream of them, every day
they colour my body in a different way

my body longing
to be touched
and to lie eye to eye
longing for the embrace
of arms and a laugh

for sounds and smells
for the cold and the fire
of love

When you see no way

out, you still have the entrance --


to the past you know.

I search in my mind,

I do remember, yet it --


won't become a word.

When your life is tough,

you do need a tough language:


poetic language.

Are you looking at the curve
below my navel, do you want
to expose me there?

... You're reserved
... and won't come any closer
... to my breath, my question

Is something burning inside you
is it blazing, is it smouldering
or should I light it?

... I don't smell you, no scent
... that excites a woman
... in her belly, in her heart

Don't you know what you want
with me, after today?
Can't you be honest

with yourself
and live relaxed
according to your ideals?

I want to study,

want to describe precisely --


the maths of the heart.

I took flute lessons,

I wanted to understand --


what 'out of tune' is.

With a kisby ring

I am floating in the pond --


Among the lilies.

Tramps are the fairytales of the city
thinly disguised threats, grinning
teeth over my pram

I train myself in just
being nice, I train myself
in smiling thoughts

But a child, my child
will not kiss a pocked toad
or vagrant prince

no matter how true it may be
that evil fairies, old queens
witches, hungry giants, and wolves

only are my fear
of empty, exhausted love
Only are my fear

A man assisted

me, just an ordinary --


man, not from heaven.

Living the good life,

ruminating lush grasses --


in the shade of trees.

Cold, perhaps even

everything, you can endure --


with a companion.

Books and photos on paper
are a fine way of preserving
and keeping my life complete -

who I have become
from my youth up, memories
of my family, images

of their presence
their activities and the places
that belong to it, all together

a constantly growing mountain
with hair-thin dendrites:
the mountain of my life

In the soft glow of

the sun just above the hills --


we warm each other.

Only for you, I

am in the picture, says her --


understanding look.

Mother can continue to see me
as a daughter, but my brother
and my husband must want
to know me as I am

I need that
even if it's not true
because my fruitless striving
keeps me alive nonetheless

Walking and writing
in notebooks and letters
explanations of who I am

Book after book to refute
and to replace what they like
to think about me, to break
it down and nuance it

Word by word weighed
and considered and rejected
now for sale to strangers -
my kind, if they dare to be so

Isn't it a spoiled life:

picking flowers on the edge --


of the precipice?

People aren't easy,

they're full of expectations --


that keep pushing you.

Why write down my life

accurately when I am --


mostly just writing?

Been enough madam big belly
in comfortable harem pants
Now I become a spiritual
matryoshka, I blow myself up:
      
my child (the little parasite
which I, in a wide-leg squat
hoopla, pulled into my arms)
grows, crawls and tries to walk
further and further away from me
but I will not allow it to escape
      
all my life I will extend
my most sensitive nerves
straight from my mother heart
to embrace all
of his world forever

In my mother's house,

very familiar scents live:


I smell who I was.

To be made pregnant

for love and not for a man --


who's just taking you.