The Other Village:

Sometimes I take a moment off and I remember the village and the people I used to know. I remember how we read each other's thoughts. Then I say to myself: What is the use of remembering. I long for them and the sweet taste of their company. No longing can raise the stones on each other again or pull back the sea from the orchards. I live near a different part of the sea. The hawks present their wings to the sky straight and muscled. Close by, my baby daughter, crying, sounds like the child of another people.


The Other Village:

When it comes to lamentations
I prefer Aretha Franklin
to, let's say, Leonard Cohen
Needless to add, he hears a different drum


- from Leonard Cohen's Death Of A Lady's Man

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