On the night Rabin died I dreamt I wandered the streets
homeless and lonely in a crowd of confusion, ricocheting
off relatives and friends barely regarded, while dogs of peace
ran with panthers and tigers all loose and all free.

No one was working – everyone
out on the streets or in groups
sleeping in different houses, using
interchangeably each others’ phones –
connecting with wrong numbers
saying a few impotent words,
disconnecting indifferently

Unseasonable cold penetrated my clothes,
and uncoated I sought shelter
in cloaks of the dead,
but found myself in other byways
before I could wrap myself in them

The river was solid and the earth
liquid under our feet – the worst
walked on water while the best
fell in the treacherous sands.

Nothing held the dream together
and everything could fall apart
at any random moment

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