fingertips beads grains of sand
Return to the shore, washed away by a strong current
clean asphalt cracks, thin cracks
leading them in a diligent channel.
Granules dissolve between bathers,
Arguing with their brothers over language
The seas are swallowed up like the sun
In the water now
Strips with exposed holes
In the tanned skin of my children
Sandal strap marks
Rock scratches, wire
We were caught from a worn-out towel
At the end of a broken nail
of a small toe.
The heat is gone
The day has turned.
A little more is returned
Called: Ona
Sha Na.
From a new book that will be published in the already for poetry series, published by Mossad Bialik, in the coming months
were we wrong
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