by Rita Kogan

Translated from Hebrew by Zackary Sholem Berger

There’s no thirst like that of longing bodies,
Pressed together to blend and let go
Again appear pale flecks of desire
Like sparks of Styx, between palms: frozen.

And the pausing of the keening of those bees of desire
Buzzing above the sucked dry sugar cane,
Contact wounds on every tongue
And every daily custom open to breaching –

O my ghost with your sky blue eyes
Your locks gray gold and sand
You asked Pan for his pipe
And requested sadness of the C flat.

The pride of poison, head storms shriek
Until your teeth burst out of your wounded mouth
The gift of gods and the need of human beings
Your body, drinker of sap, holder of hope.

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Zackary Sholem Berger is a poet and translator working in and among English, Hebrew and Yiddish. He lives in Baltimore.