From rubble, from memory, the poems salvage shards. They curve lovingly around 'what we have.' They carve not into silence, the marble of peacetime, but into a storm of noise: aerial bombing, shattering glass, surveillance drones intruding on every thought. What Abu Toha makes of this hard material is disarming. His voice tends to gentleness and wonder, nosing out beauty in all its small places.
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