From a calender I think

From a calender I think
I copied a stream flowing between pillows of flowers
And sheets of grass, of which I made a Van Gogh painting
And hung it in my parents' house ---
Another time I painted angels with clipped wings
And inserted some distortions in the external figures
---
Both of you will come to me to the renaissance of Dada
And in your hands a small bag full of cookies
I dreamt about you, showing you the crushed grass is shining
---
Still I wait for a key sentence
A sound of keys is falling
Into my permanent dwelling within I will dream
All the poems that were not written
Because they were not captured in form
Because I allowed them to escape
Because I did not capture a thin murmur ---
Chopped-up words which faithfully reflect the meaning
A white morning drops from the Milky Way

My neighbour's tractor runs me down while I am dreaming
In fact, everything around me is padded with the pleasance of sleep
The androgynous words
Dance with us in the room
A deadly tango and afterwards a shot
And another shot and another shot which ends with the creaking of the shutter ---


Next poem


Translated from the Hebrew by the author, © 1996 Ella Bat-Tsion