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{take five} anthony dimatteo Take five steps past an invisible blue line and you leave Israel, enter Lebanon. This morning’s breakfast, then, could have been half loafed in one nation, half in another. A few years earlier and you’d be having your cereal in Syria. And never left the spot where the carpet is thick with the dog’s hair, he whose piss streamed across borders without passport. Then there's the hard case if one's bed is cut by that sad line perhaps dead in the middle though the sheet shows no sign, wrinkled by other means. The woman whom you made smile still tingles from a kiss she reminisces across both sides of the sleepy village. And as for that, what does a dream know of bounds, leaking in from every side of the night, acting like a river or song not yet named? Or that boy who raced down the dawn on his bike to catch a shower of stars, what does he care if one wheel and one leg straddle a line on some map without shadow? He’s there for the sky, lifted up by its generous embrace. |
