We have come to Haifa where the sea starts.
The theater Al Midani floats by a tree.
I see this clearly though a dark filament twists round the moon.
I tiptoe through surf --
A rope someone left at the end of the jetty
I knot it to my ankle,
Not wanting to be swept away by sudden longing.
Inside the theater, candles, a mountain of bloom.
Does Haifa have almond blossom?
Must they gather it from the edges of the sea?
Someone was shot point blank and killed
A man who kept waiting for the good life to occur,
For the mouth to speak what comes before speech,
Sap in the tree and firmament of flesh.

A child approaches me in the darkened theater
And whispers in my ear -- Yes we are waiting for Godot
I am overcome by the scent of tuberoses
And cigarette smoke and can't reply
Yes, many friends of the dead man are smoking .
Six or seven take turns reading from a poem
They pass the pages from hand to hand
I left my gloom hanging on a branch of boxthorn
And the place weighed less
A woman in black jeans forces open the windows
The moon uncorks herself and blows away --
So this is how the sea starts: increments of longing,
Mostly in half darkness
Then a white light as waves rush through.