I remember how a narrow beam of light
by Roni Margulies
fell on my bed through the gap by the curtain,
one end waking me up by touching my eyelids,
the other resting on Elsa's cheek.
As I lay absolutely still,
staring at that luminous strip
that climbed down my pillow
to become a short bridge across the sheet,
Elsa, too, woke and
silently moving over to my side,
fell asleep again
on my shoulder.
Then one day she walked down that bridge
and was gone.
Now, awakened by the sun
on summer mornings, I lie there,
numb with fear
of the abyss on the other side.
Translation: 2014, Savkar Altinel