This is from Ghassan Zaqtan's Straw Bird.
One day I'll feel like a rock star
and ask the audience for requests--
[LAUGHTER]
--but not today.
[LAUGHTER]
"Wolves."
"The birds' departure from his heart
leaves the plains white, where the story is white,
and sleep is white, and silence is the callers icon.
A laugh of sand will sprout when the door is opened
from fear's angle, a hymn for the grand winter,
and the voices of those who left long ago
will jump like grasshoppers when the door is opened.
Wait, wait a moment for us to dry a moment.
There's in our trace a reckless lament and a ceramic bird--
and watch for the necklaces on the ceiling.
Why don't you turn the lights on or be happy with sitting
and watch for the fruits on the ground.
Your voice in my room exhausts the silence--
the silence of pots, the silence of shelves,
the silence of writing, the silence of lighting,
and the silence of survival, which I
have been gathering for years with the patience of one
who's alone with the garden in summer,
or one who retrieves absence.
The absence that never stops."