Poems (translated from the Hebrew)

An Israeli Abroad

I get up in the morning
And go out into the orchard to gather apples.
Birdless skies and wet grass
Ask me:
     Do you have the right to exist?
I bring my wife a basket
Of apples washed in dew.
She thanks me:
     Do we have the right to exist?
The apples are baking brown.
I peer into the steaming stove,
My face grows red.
     Do you have the right to exist?
I think of the harp
That played at midnight
When the north wind stirred:
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