Amir Or

In this vulnerable, resting, sunset light
the eye is thickened with shadow, deepened by absence.
Things hang in space, ground down by being seen, transparent—
and the mode they exist in now
is their mode of fading away.

The creating eye has weakened,
and the world that streamed—is almost already all sea;
whoever’s in front of me, behind me, at my side
is me, but isn’t here.
And it’s already late. And the day’s over.
And we were left here, alone.

On the banks of the world
there we sat down, imploring our souls—
There we weep, eyeless,
when our gaze sinks into the great sea
and we suddenly remember
who we have been.

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