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Praise the fallen worldand its dreamy terrors.Praise the false certaintyof unflickering leadersand their certain masses.No one knows better. My cravings crave solitude.My cravings crave spaceto grow and spread their wings.I hear it mostly at the playground.My
It is too early and too late to dream.My sister-God braids my hair forit has grown since the mirrors wore black. It is too early to die, too late to be born.I have carrots to chop,
Uncle Yosele, may you rest peacefullyoutside Tel Aviv in the makeshift hospitalwhere cousin Bati watches over you.She told me how you hid under a carfor two days without water,how you saw your son Ron massacredholding the