One:

the coast a long ribbon of string,

green earth, woods. Then immigration,

not user-friendly.

Try to find a bar, and when you find one,

a beer. Try to understand the money

you got for your money. Stay warm.

Take a long tour of the monuments:

these are to all the many years the ravens ate,

the long depredations of the wolf, the bear,

the arrival of the Adam Smith Institute.

I write you, love, from Nova Huta,

from Kraków the soured beauty, another night

at the Palace of Culture I’ll get weepily drunk

for you and for the magic of Poland. Na Zdrowie.

Two, the waitresses in Old Town

They are discussing shoes, footwear, feet,

limping and clucking like chickens

picking over their patch but too old

for the pot now. He wants her maybe

once a year at Christmas. By now

he’ll be home asleep on the couch

or dead drunk on the floor. Her friend,

she had a pair of sandals, perfect,

but they stopped making them, closed

the factory. He doesn’t love her any more.

Three, the music of the Emperor 

Farms and unfenced fields,

villages, chained cattle,

turkeys, road signs

reading Muzeum Oswiecim:

Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Flat grey earth.

Pits, drains, factories.

The machineries of death.

Work will make you free,

Anna Sophia from Hamburg,

Jelena from Kraków,

tenants of the Ghetto Nuovo.

So close, far away as the moon,

as all the lives all the dead lived.

An offshoot of the rail,

tracks ending in grass, chimneys,

a tangle of old wire,

a pond of white human ash.

Four, the photograph

Time stops here.

And I am not in it. These chipped bowls,

piles of clipped hair, tangle of spectacles

are here for no one.

Beyond this moment nothing ever changes

but the yellow light across the fields,

bleached in the snapshot, fading out, the corner

of the picture turning inward where it burns:

a field of brick chimneys, the horizon

dirty smoke. Nothing beyond this:

a deathless landscape

with the heart burned out, the smile intact.