Last Night in Tel Aviv

Last night in Tel Aviv, a seaside cafe
eating humus, Greek salad, burning red
peppers, drinking Gamla chardonnay,
crescent moon, shiny black olive sky,

and one lone star beneath her.
You, lone star, you sink into waves,
you, passion fruit moon, you vanish
as though by sleight of hand.

Last night in Tel Aviv, at water's edge,
a father trudges along, son slung over
shoulders like a sack of rice and later,
two horses pass before me and the sky.

Last night in Tel Aviv, could be
Casablanca of '44, no piano,
no song, yet sure wish I could play it again.
And when, if ever, will I return?

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