In his memory, I’m putting up one of 40 poems I translated of his poems:

HAIFA IN WINTER

Haifa in winter is a Japanese woodcut.

There rain silk awaits me, the softest of rains.

The shadow moth sleeps in the damp of the bushes,

and from the dreampuddles a mist slowly rises.

With the delight of clouds, Haifa in winter floats in the air,

and the horizon is sometimes a rice‑paper sail.

Then like a wound in the belly of the city

—the sun‑stained evening.

I will put them all online as soon as my neighbors start hounding me about rebuilding our building (the big fashion in the country right now) and I get through doing the slideshow for Ezi’s birthday.  The 2 funerals a week for the past month has totally messed up my schedule.