I must havewalked in on something -be quiet please, they told meone of them must still have taken pitya buzzing soundthe orange bulb engagingever brie..
Somewhere in the NegevI chose to face the sunturning from the deeper scarringflame ignited in relentless hazel eyesQuietly crumbling,consumed by flame..
The swell on my forehead bulged and brokelaying a third eye bare.Now I discern your brownish crusts,brittle, crackled and creasedand I know that I see..