There’s a speed in which things calm down.
There’s a way in which all is bliss.
There’s nothing here of renown:
Whatever touched, has touched.

There’s a look that heads only here.
There’s a place that fell in deep.
There’s nothing distant anymore:
She who’s gone, has gone.

That which is lost, will go on being lost.
There’s a speed the size of a hand,
there’s a speed in which things calm down.

There’s a speed which doesn’t rush,
there’s a stopping that doesn’t stop.
Whoever has traveled, will travel on.

—translated from Hebrew by Peter Cole

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