Tryst Poetry by Elisha Porat
|Birds of Pain|
(translated from the Hebrew by Asher Harris)
The helicopters, speedy birds of pain,
Once more thunder over my head;
I sit at my quaking desk bent
Over my notebook, holding my trembling pen.
They seem to know, to sense my inner
Homing beacon: again they flock together.
Circling above my aging heart, in which even
Now chambers and empty spaces make room:
Like containers packed tight with pain.
My Three Dears