I was walking absentmindedly through the Call
and my feet led me to a building
where some years ago I loved someone.
Marlet Street, fourth floor, just below the terrace roof.
That spacious room.
Those kisses given in haste
because the night was running out for us.
Because love ran out for us.
Now I see bricklayers working there.
They are restoring the building.
They are creating a museum – so they tell me –
about the history of the Jews.
I know that when I visit it
I will search for that fourth-floor room,
I’ll recognise it,
and by the interpretation-boards
about the fall of Jerusalem
and by the photos of Auschwitz
I will weep.
NOTE: The Call is the old Jewish quarter.