Will, like the fingers of an empty glove.
A table weighed with silence like a parting.
The sea outside. And a shoe filled with nothing,
Looking for a foot that took its leave.
A fortress of restraint moved by two feet.
Almost books. And a glass without a use.
A bit of old air: two years, perhaps, since it
Refused to go out, and stayed here for always.
And suddenly a seawind feels me
As women feel the cloth in a store;
Is he good, will he wash well in the laundry?
Later I wove a flag of doubt once more.
I hung it up, and looked outside to find
How it clatters, moving in the wind.
Notes on this poem
Reproduced by permission of Hana Amichai.