Seeking shelter from a devouring wind ...

One smouldering autumn, I read The Street of Crocodiles - 

Late at night I'd hear the sound of Klezmer music -

I'd open the window to hear the sad voices of the shetls - 

I'd see before me the bloodlands of Mitteleuropa - 

I'd look for a number on my wrist - 

Today I recalled the pinched face of the wonder working writer - 

I'd bought Henryk Grynberg's Drohobycz, Drohobycz - 

I was standing in the sunlit street, safe in the innocent seaside town - 

I imagined myself under a different sky, hearing a cruel language, seeking shelter from a devouring wind - 

15.12

Thursday 31 March 2016

Swanage

Dorset