Anadad Eldan

THE TREE WHICH ROSE FORM THE ROCK

The tree which rose from the rock
sent its roots in my flesh.
Beast of the field in its shade lies
smitten with the scent of the evening.

On he light of the pink rock
its palms caressing with soft incisors
will pass over my head.

Its flesh flows to the stone, my flesh to the earth.
Even if I tell the tree to give me
its daughter,
in parables of derision it will hit
my voice
and even if every day I tell him of my love.
Therefore I tell the rock.

And when the stone is given
the foliage will drop wizened memories over me,
will lower its branches, will darken with curtains,
so I’ll know
that they’re green.
The tree that will raise its to my song will send.

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