i’m on a zoom evening with the Hebrew Writers association, but nothing is happening.  For the past hour we’ve been doing sound checks and lighting and only now it has begun.   Writers from Poland, Hungary, France, Argentina and Israel are watching each other, waiting their turn to read a poem about light.  my poem – is about a suitcase full of all our poems –

SUITCASE

 

Let me put the poems in a suitcase

and carry them with me everywhere —

like mulch, like dressing, I say:

Not separate spots of time, with their

renovating virtue, but blended —

losing all sense of separateness,

temperature, subject-object distinction

 

and when I pass through customs

and open the grip, the mist

will rise through the airport

transforming everyone who passes though–

coming or going.