I step into the dense air of Ben Gurion Airport.
Stunted trees lean down into the concrete,
guttering, undone, between the baggage carts.
And the Jewish year which burns like a candle
with wicks all down its length
is lighting me all the way up Highway Six.
This earth is gathering its wretched in like a kerchief
folded in at the corners
and a woman is singing through radio static
a ululating song of hunger and praise.