Poem of the Week

21

When no one is waiting for us

any longer, there’s

death,

so faithful.

22

Broken souls are not anonymous,

no more than the geometry

reserved for my naked feet.

23

There are moments when

the past ceases to be a form

of the present.

Rain and tears

Look alike.

24

Syria has always been the mother

of chaos. A land parallel to

all the others. In the epiphany

of a sun to come,

breathless.

25

The olive tree in Delphi,

next to the temple of Sikiyon,

remembers the oracle

saying that

somewhere in the plain linking

the Red Sea to the Dead Sea,

music will

displace the sky.

26

Ruins are relics.

The lineage being of little importance, we’re related to them.