Césarée

Caesaree.

Caesarea.

The place is called Caesaree.

Caesarea.

It remains no more than the memory of history

and this single word

to name it,

Caesaree.

Totality.

Nothing but the place.

And the word.

The land.

It is white.

Of marble dust mixed...

with the sand of the sea.

Pain.

Intolerable.

The pain of their separation.

Caesaree.

The place is called again.

Caesaree. Caesarea.

The area is flat,

facing the sea.

The sea is at the end of its course.

It hits the ruins...

Always hard.

There, now.

In front of another continent already.

Blue...

the columns of blue marble.

Flung there,

before the port.

All...

destroyed.

Everything has been destroyed.

Caesaree.

Caesarea.

Caught.

Removed.

Taken to exile on a Roman ship,

Queen of the Jews.

The woman, Queen...

of Samaria.

For him.

Him.

The criminal.

He who had destroyed the Temple of Jerusalem.

And then

repudiated.

The place is still

Caesaree. Caesarea.

The end of the sea.

The sea that drives...

against the deserts.

There is just... history.

Everything.

Nothing more...

than this marble rubble under one's steps.

This dust...

And the blue...

of the drowned columns.

The sea has reclaimed the land of Caesaree.

The streets of Caesaree were narrow...

dark.

There was coolness in the sunny plazas.

The arrival of the vessels.