I am a poet exiled 
to fields of color. 
words in the furrow 
of the brush 
sprout rhymed lines 
upon soft canvases 
fertilize them 
with pigments, 
make pictures grow. 

I am a painter exiled 
from fields of color. 
I assemble 
words fallen 
from heaven 
like rebel angels 
like rebel angels 
I arrange urgent letters 
on restless sheets, 
build spectacles there. 

I am a woman exiled 
from districts of love 
to a land 
of rain colors, 
to sign-filled spaces. 
I am doomed to collect 
in a charity box 
scraps of spirit 
from reality's back rooms 
to satisfy my soul 

Translated by:
Anthony Rudolf

from "Images Reproduced", Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1999 the poem "exile"