TWO SKINNY BIRDS

I came to the spring
of my life. The ground gave off a warm
scent. From sea to
sea. This earth blooms
out of my flesh like a graft
cut into a tree trunk.
 
The air is filled with nectar and bees and the sharp
scent of myrtle and absinthe
and acacia. Two skinny birds
that I see now at the edge
of my vision and that see me
while eating barley on the lattice
are the birds of my death,
ready for me in my autumn’s fermenting storeroom. 

שתי צפורים דלות בשר

שתי צפורים דלות בשר