Among the forgotten things, from Kung to Dunung
From vapor to chaos, from generations
Wrinkled, shrunken, from the deep black
Crevices, rises steam in bright gyrations,
Rising with a thready constitution,
A structure luminous, a limelight,
A pleasant glow racing to the horizon,
Over a perfect city, a lucent meteorite,
A light that shouts fair names,
A sweetness in the dark, a tang
Of a forgotten park, a throne,
A murmur of a song that father sang.
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Yaacov David Shulman