No More Separation

The wind takes your air from your body, lifts it, circles the earth, pours it over me. It pours over me the waterfall of another air. The waterfall of another air passes through the veil of my shawl, through the veil of my black overcoat. Silently it passes, caresses my naked body, my imprisoned skin. Wholly mouth, with all the pores of my skin — in the dawn of my city’s morning — I drink your air. Your air, passing over borders, through barbed wire. Passing over all distances, all creeds. — without the nauseating smell of sulfur and blood, without the black smell of the gallows’ rough rope — I drink you with deep breaths. With deep breaths I settle your virgin air into the depths of the depths of my constricted lungs. You circulate in my red vein. You find your way to the depths of my bone. And you blossom, you blossom: — O fresh air — every moment hotter, more vermilion, in every cell of mine...