The towns are shattered. Until
The light swivels round on the black Water, and in the morning, the sun Light fades away the zodiac, The furnace of plasma’s light soaks The leaves and sugar floods the twigs, The breeze sifts across the orchard, The scarlet lines of burst figs. At noon, the light is so intense That the green groves cannot disguise It, turn it into illusory eyes, But hold a tremulous compromise.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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October 2019
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