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Published: Wed Apr 15 2009
Night reading mode 


After the bombs
          and the buildings blow
                    I call Clover, Clover
and you appear—
          a dream limned in smoke.

Clover, my hermaphroditic dear,
          I kiss your singed
                    leaflet ears and fawn
in a café in Eilat.
          Clover sips from a demitasse.

Only a few sesame seeds left
          and the porcelain carried away.
                    Morning crawls toward
afternoon, and the sun
          says it’s time for wine

to drown this red day.
          I hear there’s a crater
                    where our bed last lay
at the Hotel de Ruin.
          A portrait of dancing

lights and fire balloons,
          a painterly gasoline blur.
                    Let’s find a sailboat,
bread, zatar, and figs
          and watch the distance burn.

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