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Poetry

The explosives belt was ticking
On his terrified body,
And from the wells of his eyes screwed into him
That very morning there dripped
Farewell tears for Isaac.
Soon there are the mountain, altar
And cotton-wool faces of the angels.
Luckily, a minute before the blast
God reminded him there is
A God.

Translated by Robert Manaster and Hana Inbar


The Image archive is supported in part by an award from the National Endowment for the Arts.

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