(Link to magazine: https://tinyurl.com/y6w7pjpy)
I love
to write.
I am a writer.
I am a writer without
a language.
a language.
I dream in English, count
in Hebrew;
when I
feel
lonely I listen
to my breath.
to my breath.
My writing:
dreams unlived,
letters
unsent; brush strokes
broad
and thin, in colours
bright
and dull.
Art?
3D
2D
1D
No D
My home is here.
My home is nowhere.
I can hold it firmly in my hand, yet
it is
nothing but air.
No, not air: no
one can
breathe my home.
breathe my home.
* Inspired by Danielewski, Mark, House of Leaves (London:
Transworld Publishers, 2000)
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