“From the Corpse Woodpiles, from the Ashes”

From the corpse woodpiles, from the ashes

and staring pits of Dachau,

Buchenwald they come—

O David, Hirschel, Eva,

cops and robbers with me once,

their faces are like yours—

From Johannesburg, from Seoul.

Their struggles are all horizons.

Their deaths encircle me.

Through target streets I run,

in light part nightmare

and part vision fleeing

What I cannot flee, and reach

that cold cloacal cell

where He, who is man beatified

And Godly mystery,

lies chained, His pain

our anguish and our anodyne.