Category Archives: Remains

As in Neruda’s City, Unchanged

All things change, informs the poet. From climate through seasons, to stone that, through my hand, becomes diamond. Everything changes. I had a cat, wasted cancerous, but he was my master. I had a home, over time it became nothing … Continue reading

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Two glasses and a bottle of wine Dates, June 30, July 15, cling to their meaning Do you remember ? Partitions Each division brings suffering: Lebanon There is no Lebanon Syria There is no Syria Iraq There is no Iraq … Continue reading

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I knew once, that feeling, something remarkable, beautiful, even magic. It was being with you: In Neruda’s city. Sitting in that sun-drenched park, watching lovers stroll by, hand in hand, and we smiled, because we, too, were lovers. Standing, inches … Continue reading

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