....a poem for Avi/Bob and George, reunited, taking up where they left off...

[Jennie Bireline]

IN THE GARDEN AT THE WHITE TABLE

In the garden at the white table,
two dead men were sitting in the midday heat.
A branch stirred above them. One of them pointed out
Things that have never been.
The other spoke of a great love
with a special device to keep it functioning
even after death.

They were, if one may say so, a cool
and pleasant phenomenon
on that hot dry day, without sweat
and without a sound. And only
when they got up to go
did I hear them, like the ringing of porcelain
when it's cleared off the table.

Yehuda Amichai

(translated from the Hebrew by Chana Bloch
and Steven Mitchell)

[ninaliza]

I can see them Jen, thank you for this visual poem, nina

[George]

Thank you for that, Jennie!
George