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Day 22:
From this day forth, you tun into the dreamer
of everything: the world within your hand.


Day 23:
I'm not a car, I'm a person,
A man-god, a god-man
Whose days are numbered. Hallelujah


Day 24:
Whatever I scream or say or whisper is only
to console myself


Day 25:
I have gathered many consolations in my life
and squandered them, many sorrows
that I spilled in vain.


Day 26:
You didn't eat, weren't filled. You spoke big words
with a small mouth. Your heart will never learn to judge distances.


Day 27:
The scent of her drying hair is
prophesying in the streets and among stars.


Day 28:
These are the last days of books.
Next come the last days of words. Some day
you will understand.


Day 29:
Loving each other began this way: threading
loneliness into loneliness
patiently, our hands trembling and precise.


Day 30:
Later they'll jump down again
to the sound of applause and wars.


Day 31:
They are all dice
that landed on the lucky side.
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from They Are All Dice

They are all dice
that landed on the lucky side.
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from Jerusalem is Full of Used Jews

Later they'll jump down again
to the sound of applause and wars.
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from Threading

Loving each other began this way: threading
loneliness into loneliness
patiently, our hands trembling and precise.
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from Between

These are the last days of books.
Next come the last days of words. Some day
you will understand.
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from Ballad of the Washed Hair

The scent of her drying hair is
prophesying in the streets and among stars.
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from Travels of the Last Benjamin of Tudela

You didn't eat, weren't filled. You spoke big words
with a small mouth. Your heart will never learn to judge distances.
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from Ruhama

I have gathered many consolations in my life
and squandered them, many sorrows
that I spilled in vain.
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from When I Banged My Head on the Door

Whatever I scream or say or whisper is only
to console myself
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from What Kind of Person

I'm not a car, I'm a person,
A man-god, a god-man
Whose days are numbered. Hallelujah
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Day 15:
Your eyes are sad and beautiful
like the pictures of flowers in a textbook.


Day 16:
And love—a couple of nights
like rare stamps. To stroke the heart
without breaking it.


Day 17:
But a great love begins here, sometimes,
with the sound of dry branches snapping in the dead forests.


Day 18:
All these make a strange
dance rhythm. But I don't know who's dancing to it
or who's calling the tune.


Day 19:
My eyes were prophets then, but my body had no idea
what it was going through or where it belonged.


Day 20:
stand by my side and dry your face now
and smile as if in a family photo.


Day 21:
May you find lasting peace,
the living in their lives, the dead
in being dead.
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from Farewell

From this day forth, you tun into the dreamer
of everything: the world within your hand.
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from 1924

May you find lasting peace,
the living in their lives, the dead
in being dead.
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from I Lost My Identity Card

My eyes were prophets then, but my body had no idea
what it was going through or where it belonged.
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from All These Make a Dance Rhythm

All these make a strange
dance rhythm. But I don't know who's dancing to it
or who's calling the tune.
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from End of Summer in the Judean Mountains

But a great love begins here, sometimes,
with the sound of dry branches snapping in the dead forests.
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from On the Day I Left

And love—a couple of nights
like rare stamps. To stroke the heart
without breaking it.
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Day 8:
And I said to myself: that's true, hope needs to be
like barbed wire to keep out despair,
hope must be a mine field.


Day 9:
Here they sit and there they walk
Here they hate and there they love.


Day 10:
Sometimes I come crashing down inside myself
without anyone noticing. I'm like an ambulance
on two legs


Day 11:
And his soul is seasoned, his soul
is very professional.
Only his body remains forever
an amateur.


Day 12:
More than one prophet
has left this tangle of lanes
while everything topples above him and he becomes someone else.



Day 13:
Near my bed, the rustle of newspaper wings.
There are no other angels.


Day 14:
Perhaps from being beaten thinner and thinner,
the iron of hatred will vanish, forever.
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from Poems for a Woman

Your eyes are sad and beautiful
like the pictures of flowers in a textbook.

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