Tombstone of Joel ben Ze’ev

Please, increase the intensity of your signals. Here I can’t hear, can’t know, if you’ve stuck another iron flower in the lapel of the antenna. You’re so delicate. Why are you so soft, why are you…

The rain cleaned off the steep facade of houses; I write upon the white and stony sheet And feel how my tired hand so softly rouses From love poems that always, sweetly, were a cheat. I wake in the…

Crags in the mountains facing us are like bereaved mothers who long ago altered their image: dew does not slake them, the sun does not gild them. —How terrible their silence and where can we flee?— A…