Senses
Karen Levy
Like long time lovers, my land and I trace each otherīs contours in our sleep,
no longer surprised by what our touch may find.
In the cities I walk through in my mind,
I feel the polished roughness of Jerusalem stone, block upon carved block
creating the city of my birth.
On the beaches of my childhood, I hear the gentle lapping of waves
as they wash the morning to shore.
In my dreams, I breathe in the perfume of pulsing streets,
bus fumes mingling with the steamy vapors rising from vats of boiling corn.
A few steps more and I will see the glimmering lights of Haifaīs port,
reaching out to welcome me as they have done before.
And underfoot my toes sink in to sun-warmed sand,
hurrying me towards cooling waves of saltiness where I am drawn to dance
until my limbs are tangled in the seaīs embrace.
But like any dream, this one too must come to its ephemeral end,
the seductive past disappearing like a wraith
on the breeze through my bedroom window.
And like all great loves, forever leaves me wanting more.
