to people-watching on the Jerusalem buses; since I’ve developed blisters on my
dusty feet; since I met Shachar and heard his voice speak the poetry of this place.
He doesn’t know it and neither do these men and women, rocking back and
forth on this exhausting bus, waiting for their stops and the release of this pause
button holding their lives in place until the standing riders call, nahag!
The poetry of this place is a beautiful bittersweet and all I want is to ride this bus
forever and let the ringing make a home in my newly awakened ears.