Before I left for the desert I dropped you off
at the house of study
I can’t locate it on the map
but I remember the street
hibiscus bushes in front of the library
and how you texted me directions
together with the photo we took.
I got lost on my way out of the city
I didn’t mind
I didn’t look at the directions on purpose
I enjoyed the detour through the valley
a few extra moments in this foreign place
where the license plate made me a native.
Earlier that day, when I parked the car to meet you
for eggs and salads and coffee at the Café 7
a woman called out to me from the sidewalk:
There is space!
And this was promising because in Hebrew
it also meant: There is G-d!
And seven is a promising number
as promising as your name
although your name
has also been appropriated by alien gods.
I was not a native.
Before I left for the desert I wanted a photo
with a panoramic view although the panoramic view
makes it look like the city weren’t ours, too.
And because we were friends
we took it fast, as if not to linger too long
but you can already see
what would happen after the desert
you can see it in the space between our bodies.
And in the background, you don’t see the city at all
only cypresses and barbed wire.