Behind a wall of lives
Engraved in stones,
Searching for the homes
They left behind,
The Jews of Kuzhmir find
Instead the fissure in my heart.
Listen to their song!
Spun from breathless wind,
Weaving through the trees
In waltz time and sunshine.
It climbs the scales to heaven,
Rising in crescendo to a small
Still point where all is silent-
A rest note held forever.
Birch and pine bough,
Rustling “Amen”
To a Kaddish never said.
A song without words,
A nigun without Jews,
Except those whose souls
Are in the trees.
A song unfinished for the dead.