Take a seat, Yael, rest now.
Rest. Listen to the leaves
Here on Rothschild Boulevard.
Leave the grey stairs of Albuquerque behind,
Forget the cool Baltic sky
And the yellow paintings of a treacherous woman.
Breathe, Yael, and climb the steps
To the high perch.
What kind of break do you need?
Pull out the nail, Yael, which you once hammered
Into your stories. Sit
And speak to somebody
Who is near.