by Ronny Someck

You, who will soon be touching her hands
and taking her to wherever you take her,
do not forget the piano lessons
her fingers knew at the age of nine,
the basketballs that were caressed on the way
to the net that filtered dreams
and the plasters on the imaginary cut
on the tip of her thumb.
In your imaginations draw her hand as a golden triangle
of which the sides are: Kareem Abdul-Jabar, Mozart
and God,
and when you see her finger pointing at the moon,
look at the finger.

Translated by Vivian Eden

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