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Suppose there’s a tree in the tree’s navel
and in the home’s navel a home.
and a mum bird sits there
waiting, who would provide her a voice.
give her a navel, a paries
who’s voice is dripping
from the tip of his thumbs?
Have to admit
the world is objectless,
the tree is treeless,
the home is homeless,
and the cry-nut giggle
to its feet.
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NURIT ZARCHI from her book Timegrass, Carmel Publishers. Translated by Gili Haimovich, 2016.