Amos Weisz

To my daughter

Wire houses of logic
where electric dogs are brave,
cities of aluminium limits
on the rectangle of black paper,
spaceships to the moon,

rainbows of fiery gouache
out of the energy of your storm,
hypnotic, magmal, controlled violence,
chalk 1's at the blackboard,
locomotives on fibres of light,
the letter of your frozen play
the cynic of your reason,
the magic of your despair,
as my worth crumbles
into the stardust of time,
whose diaphanous winds cure us of matter.