Israel Poem/Palestine Poem

Israel Poem.

Sea shell sings its whispers. Who knows how
but an ear.
Good music. To where, to how, who knows but
spring ear. It’s the sort of song
one tries
not quite
to go to bed with; but before the eye closes there
is the ear. Warm sounds but
water is cold. So late,
so soon, and here. Bottle it. Throw it back.
Throw it. In your hands, a remaining. There, singing
as stone. It keeps itself. Rain for many
years keeps it
going
and it goes
as a palm with its old shape after the fact,
the throwing, the song the song the song the song. Thank you.

Palestine Poem.

So long as there is time
something will happen. On this earth,
small and interesting place,
constant new statue,
glaring eyes from a corner (ambivalent eyes
perhaps calling for a maybe, perhaps
making eyes at another body as soft screaming). All
summer the bugs buzzed. Like your hands.
You are there again.
As ghost. As ocean.
I went to a beach once and the sand
was made of fishshells. I went
to a mountain once and the stone
was made of smaller smallfish. Somewhere
else the water sings and you will
sing of me, and the birds. And your mouth,
how clear, how blue, how real,
how small. Like yours. Like hands. Like fish.