那匹蓝色的马每次在我睡着的时候，就来到我的梦里，跟我宁静地说一声：“走吧。”于是我就跟着它，我们健步如飞——对于我衰败的身体而言，那种轻盈的感觉简直欣喜得让人恐惧。

These days it’s naïve to assume that a person would accept something from a stranger. This might never work on the street in daylight. But there’s something about the empty subway platform at night that makes Marcus believe she’ll take the note. Then it will be up to the words. They have to work. They must.

The neon digits read [01:37] / when a buzzing hum shakes me / awake, deep as the bass thrum of nightclubs / that once bucked behind my breastbone

There are people who await their ending, in their own beds, ready for the dust to sneak into their rooms and pantries, bedrooms and basements, to lie upon the old blankets, to fill their nostrils, to clog their lungs; to die of suffocation. But there are others, diligent people, who fight against the sky’s will, who put cars and machines to work and gather the unstoppable ash.

«Так. Во первых меня зовут Марик и ни каких вариантов. Бабушка инагда зовёт меня Марочкой. Звучит наркомански и я угораю когда Ба так говорит. Одно временно меня выбешивает, что Марочка звучит как Ларочка. Девчачье имя. Я могбы запретить ей. Сказать не делай так Ба никогда незови меня этим наркоманским девчачьим именем. Но немогу. Она стирала мои засратые пелёнки и ночей неспала. Она лично забрала меня у аиста. Отчистила меня от капустных листьев. Это я только начал перичеслять. Ещё, много чего, думаю понятно. С каким лицом я пришёлбы ей чтото запрещать. Только просить. Попросил не звать меня Марочкой «в обществе» (так говорит Ба: в обществе).…

He turned his gaze to the sculpted figures above the building’s entrance—mutilated and broken segments of human bodies—but no matter where he looked the dream was still inside him, he couldn’t get rid of it, it was like an aftertaste or a bright light burned into your eye, leaving behind a dark spot in your field of vision.

Every time I fall asleep, the blue horse enters my dream and summons me to go. I follow it, and we run together; for this old body of mine to feel that light, floating step is exhilarating almost to the point of terror.

Sunt oameni care-și așteaptă finalul nestingheriți, în patul lor, așteaptă ca praful să se strecoare în camere și cămări, dormitoare sau beciuri, să se așeze peste păturile lor învechite de vreme și de nevoi, să le astupe nările, să li se-năclăiască plămânii, să moară sufocați. Dar mai sunt alții, suflete destoinice, care luptă cu voia cerului, care mobilizează mașini și utilaje, care adună cenușa ce cade fără oprire.

Nur remembered a paragraph from one of Tirosh's poems, from the single book he published, two years before the twentieth century came to an end: "The morning rises: another train station…"

.This story was originally published on the Israeli SFF Society website נור נזכרה בבית אחד משיר של תירוש, מהספר היחיד שהוא פרסם, שנתיים לפני סוף המאה העשרים: "הבוקר עולה; עוד תחנת רכבת. השמיים בכחול כהה ופנסי הרחוב דולקים; אנשים, כמו תיבות טבועות של אוצרות עתיקים, יושבים במצולותיהם. מוקדם מדי להתחיל בפעולות חילוץ: לשעה קלה, לפני שהשמש תזרח, אנחנו לבד." היא לא אהבה את הדימוי, לא מצאה בו את המקוריות הדרושה כדי להפוך את השיר למשהו מעבר למשני, אבל עדיין... היא חשבה עליו עכשיו, מכיוון שבדרכו שלו, תירוש תפש, בשיר, מהות מסוימת של מסע. לתחנה היה שם רשמי בו לא נעשה שימוש; עבור תושבי העיר, לפחות, היה לה רק שם אחד, שילוב שגרם למעטים שהגנו על השפה בחירוף נפש להתמרמר בכל פעם מחדש: דמשק-סטנרל.…