SHOW US AN EXILE

Where is the sea
for us, an exile to wave
us over the horizon,
there is an echo of clouds
understanding the snow
those children abandoned
among a flight of angels
in a blue Chagall
prisoners in time of war
crying out as laborers
in the barracks hall
cursed amid
the dust and stone
with hypnotic spells
in an alembic calendar
of words, stars, smoke
that goes up in chimneys
reaching up to atone
higher and higher
up to Jacob's ladder
in bone dry hunger
and thirst.