Translated by Liora and Shirly Someck 

It was hot,
And she laid her leg on a stool
to remind how much I wanted to be
The bandage that was wrapped around her knee
Or even in more desperate times
The hidden blue bruise.
Back then I was in the complex gap between 15 to 16
And she stretched ropes around my body without saying,
Come on, touch my Italianisms,
Come and despise, as I, the fires’ hoops
Or come and say that you would have praised my legs
In a display window of any museum for History of Desire.

Back then I was strong in dreams, and in the mornings that
I came to the Circus Tent I saw her brother brushing
A horses’ mane, her mother reading a Magazine
Which on its cover flashed joy in the corner of the eye
Of Sofia Loren
And I, in my heart, applauding
the second she waved back
to the wave that I never dared to send her.

Till now I haven’t got a clue what was her name.