Facing one another
we turn our backs to the world’s calamities.
Behind our closed eyes and curtains
both heat and war
erupted at once.
The heat will calm down first,
the faint breeze
won’t bring back
the boys who have been shot,
won’t cool down
the wrath of the living.
Even if it tarry,
the fire will come,
many waters won’t quench etc.*
Our arms as well
can only reach our own bodies:
We are a small crowd
incited to bite,
to cling to each other
to barricade ourselves in bed
while in the ozone above us
a mocking smile
cracks wide open.
*(Song of Solomon, 8:7) “Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.”
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