BENJAMIN'S GHOST

In a minefield of truths
Walter Benjamin's ghost
speaks in a rhetorical
footnote of a mirror's
darkness eating dust jackets
in a historical shelf
over a Berlin used bookstore
sign of the post war era
boasting of a first edition
which survived a bonfire
of stealth and confiscation
from a stranger's wealth
in corridors of knowledge
and their demolition
in no silent voice to digress
on Elysium's invitation
to peruse at a minimum verse
and to recite "Kaddish"
with a definition's "Yes"
on days still in mourning
on a sackcloth of phrases impaled
at assembled rail yards
among fresh breaths murmuring
from a comrade bard
scurrying about about
the hedge of spring mums
at an underbrush of words
to escape a timorous field
spotted by a meadow lights
without anything to gain,
gamble or lose at cards
in a prophetic refrain heard
by the sickly incarcerated
object d'art head tables
in pickpocket uniforms of death
shaped in many ephemeral
regrettable syllables
of your echoes
in a canticle to pass
over nature's miracle
near furrowed branches
you,Benjamin
ashen and selfishly lacerated
while being followed
in discovering a baited trap
crushed on a dog's path
once of snow
up the mountain road.