Magazine article Tikkun

Above the Roofs of the Jewish Village

Magazine article Tikkun

Above the Roofs of the Jewish Village

Article excerpt

I and my imaginary lover hover

above the roofs of the Jewish village.

Above the courtyards, dairy barns, animal pens.

Above the awnings of the chicken coops.

Amid smells and clucking, cold air and wind

muss her imaginary hair, soft, colorful, flapping like cards.

My love is not Jewish, she's an urban girl, from the city of Tel Aviv,

giggling a pleasant and liberating laugh.

I'm an inhibited village boy, and as I hover,

the stammering

and blushing poems have completely disappeared, my voice is eloquent.

We kiss. Quickly. In the middle. Of the air. Without stopping.

My hands, my tender beard, my ear locks, my hat and my two feet- it's nice

to face her, up there, in the skies like so many countless lizards.

The heat of our bodies creates a white cloud, pale and streaming above

humpbacked mountains, sorry tin shacks and village squares.

And so we embrace, up there, in the center,

in the blue, in the middle of the blue sky,

right above the church, above the cross. …

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