REMEMBRANCE

Despair wraps itself around your name.
For a moment I am alarmed, cannot reconstruct
the intense jaw line that held the face.
Time is like ash,
like the constant flow of rivers,
like ridicule.

Winter darkens the house,
dancing on wooden drawers.
How can we be rescued from forgetfulness,
from daily habits, from long mornings
in which we dress ourselves
in respectable appearances as if there is no
deserted, dirty hallway below.

How can I bring you to the balcony,
to the spring festivities,
to wine and walnuts, a book of poetry,
to the spectre of a street busy with itself.
How can I mourn the distance of years,
of waste, of your silence
seeping into the earth.

זֵכר

זֵכר