Khamsin on the Hills

Do you remember that
khamsin on the hills?  The branches
full of thorns sent to us by
the thirsty wild plums?  The
blazing rocks and the scent
of toasted pine needles?
The blush that rose on your cheeks, and the drops
of your gentle sweat?  My soul
reached out to you then my love.
And I did not guess there that such
would be our lives:  crowns of thorns,
and the heat of the khamsim, and the blush of
the sweat of love.  And the sorrow that eats
at us from inside for the speed of elusive
time and the lightning vision of
painful memory, flying away.

translated from the Hebrew by Cindy Eisner

Page 3

© Copyright, Elisha Porat.
All rights reserved.