box of jars

Hila Ratzabi

flapped and was gone
just like that 

I stood wingless
on the earth 

to the sky 

which was empty
nothing floating far away 

I bent down
pressed my hands 

to the concrete
until tiny pieces of gravel 

writ sentences there
I slid my finger across my palm 

brushed the skin
like a page  

rereading the lines
till my palm was gone.