“Dor” by Nathalie Handal


We walk through clouds
wrapped in ancient symbols

We descend the hill
wearing water

Maybe we are dead
and don’t know it

Maybe we are violet flowers
and those we long for

love only
our unmade hearts

On attend, on attend

Wait for Duras and Eminescu
to tell us in French then Romanian

light has wounds
slow down—
memory is misgivings

Wait until the nails
get rusty
in the houses of our past.


Nathalie Handal, 1969-

© 2019 Nathalie Handal

Photo by planetMitch aunger on Unsplash 

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