The First Rain

The first rain reminds me

Of the rising summer dust.

The rain doesn't remember the rain of yesteryear.

A year is a trained beast with no memories.

Soon you will again wear your harnesses,

Beautiful and embroidered, to hold

Sheer stockings: you

Mare and harnesser in one body.

The white panic of soft flesh

In the panic of a sudden vision

Of ancient saints.

Translated from the Hebrew by Barbara and Benjamin Harshav