IBN GABIROL
—Yehuda Amichai
Sometimes pus,
sometimes poetry—
always something is excreted,
always pain.
My father was a tree in a grove of fathers,
covered with green moss.
Oh widows of the flesh, orphans of the blood,
I've got to escape.
Eyes sharp as can-openers
pried open heavy secrets.
But through the wound in my chest
God peers into the universe.
I am the door
to his apartment.
___________________
—Medusa