When you lit a candle
in the shadow of evening
and trees
I thought of shadows

The strange name of this place
The Golden Ship
the same name
as the candle lit
by a Yiddish poet
in Jerusalem
for his language of shadows
his house of print

We ate in the evening of trees
palatshinka
and the woman
who served us
spoke of her father
she did not know
though her face
spoke of him

When she was conceived
this was The Russian Zone

While artificial lights
spoke to each other
across the Danube
the river sank
into oblivion
under the Nibelungen bridge

The stones came from Mauthausen
do you remember?
under our feet
the last escapees
were murdered
on the dunghill
of history

It was good of you
to light a candle