Log Cabin Chronicles
The Israeli
ADRIENNE C. FISHER
He's squatting on his haunches like the old image of a Chinaman with a long pigtail, his clothes hanging on his scaffold: weakened bones with no place to belong.
His black beard contrasts against his forlorn face, eyes closed against the fading light harbor age beyond their years in timeworn sockets, turning within to fight the fight.
One hand at his temple holds his lolling head the other hangs lifeless from his bent knee One acts like a post forestalling dread, The other, a lifeless limb from a leafless tree.
He's wearing a mangled hat that covers his head, respectful of his praying facade, A mirage of tranquility hovers as if he still believed there is a g-d.
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