I speak to you of temporalities

as if I ever witnessed a dawn

that I could ever call my own

this world has ended

a thousand times for us

and will end a thousand more

we learned the choreography of farewell

like we learned the voices of our own mothers

with our own body on our own soil

with our own blood on our own soil

borders have been drawn

and we chose to remember

but we did not choose

the rhythm

the distance

the curves of the Carmel

the flow of the Yarmouk

and I have nothing to hide

nothing to hide

and nothing to discover

but my own mortality

here is my bed

here is the coastline

here are the gates of Jerusalem

here is the wheat of the Galilee

here is my sorrow

my sweat

my adam’s apple

here is a world

that has ended many times before

so I will kiss the leftovers of sleep from your face

you will heat the water

I will make the bed

for the world might

or might not

begin again today.