SEBALD'S LAMENT

The last wind called
over Germany
with Sebald's
lament facing
on mine
over the last window
in our journey
of x7604387
numbers written
on our wrist
with a middle aged
stigmata of branding,
as we have no vendetta
of stranding history's
invoice of a pendulum
crossing the garden
in a Bavarian boyhood
lost in the momentum
of stored up words
across a page
of our father's language
in a dead bolt of crime
from iron and steel works
at a crematorium's
neighborhood of time.