The life I live,
o dying ones,
leaves me havoc and dreams.

I am illumined
by mounds in the graveyards
and the scent of roses.

Fresh, the day leaves me
to a kibbutz on a sea of glass.

My eyes are sharp
like pricks of steel.
The world unveils itself before me.

Death is not our suffering,
nor is it the truth of things.
An excess of light divides
age from youth.