Zara Raab-lI
A Friend
A friend of mine has
died. He was ill a long time,
yet he told no one.
Instead, he kept the knowledge
to himself as if
it were a pill, a lozenge
to savor in his
mouth, sucking out the sweetness,
swallowing the salt.
Now the earth will seek him out
with her wet mouth and
she will taste him and manage
what others could not––
she will unlace the strands of
him and he will go
bare soled with only his name
into the cave of
time––with the high wind keening.
The sting of it sends the earth
careening––at noon,
the sky darkens, and motors
cease whirring as if
the Sabbath came with all her
peace. But for the trees––
all along the streets
of the world, their leaves murmur
in Aramaic.