I alone wander this rural mountain,
sharpened gravestones like teeth in
the cruelly exposed mouth of winter—
my shoulders stiffen, eyes tire from
unblinking vigilance. I dart the moon’s
silhouette above icy branches starved
for the luminescence of sun-snowy day.
Shadows of the fallen fists swiftly charge
the air with the unspeakable denial of six
million dead whose chorus, unbound
by time, will never cease until the dirge
enfolds the world.
*published in Super Poetry Highway
in a special 2015 Holocaust edition