Yael

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.