They take my rings from me,
but I'm left with my fingers

After prayers the sky is rolled up
and stored in big baskets

The summer night shatters
in its frame

I, the good son, am the last string
between bridge and peg

My father is the man who asphalted Israel
my mother a smiling gold tooth

My hair in the grate of her hard
tattooed hands

My tree name is not
the name my enemies give me

My bush name is not
the tautological father-word

Only the voice of the forgotten commandment
still troubles me

Translated by Richard Millington