Page 29 - Vol. VI #1

Protective Edge
You stop in the middle of your letter
for sirens
not rockets (there is a dome over Jerusalem)
but sirens that break sentences in half make a language
out of silence
You ask forgiveness
for your broken thought
Your words fade into my night or
Your morning I can still taste
from last month cold coffee hot sun on my shoulders as I drove away
from the first falling sounds of war
20