I like to think
that he walks me still...

They wore upon my spirit,
not in the way that hurricanes hit...

Tonight, like many ordinary Gaza nights,
there are wounded babies...

Withering into the quiet,
I no longer keep track of the nights...

I immerse my hands beyond
the taut surface of reason...

On still nights,
cold air suckles my rose-scented chin...

One night,
I just woke up naked on the inside...

Paranoid verses
trembling nude in my pocket...

I took fire from the amber
you hid under the pillow...

You secretly binge on my flesh
and say my blood is too bitter...

You've been eating away
at my conscience for a decade...

Your face burns, in stillness,
outside my winter lane...