In a Cemetery Under a Solitary Walnut Tree that Crows


had planted and whose seeds are hollow
I found a needle and with it

I dug a well dug
and dug until I struck ink

The needle wove fabric for bodies it had injected with song
I painted the well’s walls with quicklime and couldn’t climb out

There was sun and moonlight came into my sleep
I stored leaves and bark but rain washed away my words

A lantern came down on a rope that a girl held
I sent up the part of me that was light


(after Golan Haji)