At the Art Café, Tzfat
Last night I ate inside
The north light had long since
fled, fearful of the glare from
Klezmer’s flashy riot.
But the deft strokes of
the sinking sun inked in the
infant lights of the rising moon,
so spreading a silken sheen across
stack on stack of blueberry hills,
whose sweet and dainty tops when
viewed in fine relief offered a
glimpse of Heaven.
Fabulous – or not – arched cascades
of strident colour with their brazen music
twirled triumphant torrents in mid-air.
Their dance seemed somehow magic.
But in the bid to win a race to I knew
not where, they hurtled heedless,
headlong back to earth and on
exploding lost their unworldly fire.
The scent of mint and lemon fading,
it was time to go. Now the canvas
shrivelled and in one furtive backward
glance became a furled, forlorn thing,
kicked to shreds by gluttonous crowds.
© Natalie Wood (22 August 2015)