Gulls spiral high above
The porch tiles and my gulf-green,
Cliff-hanging lawn, with their
Out-of-breath wail, as
Dawn catches the silver ball
Set in the dried up bird bath
To scare the gulls. My slippers
Exhale lamé.

I was egged on by old age—
To sell that house,
Winterize this house,
Give up my practice… that
You, Pauli, gave up
At Belzec, our son at Belsen,
And one at Maidenek,
Our last at Maidenek.

Below the cliff, the shallows
Tear apart, beating
Themselves white and black,
While the sea’s smooth other edge
Towers, reddening,
Over the surfacing sun.
I rise early, always,
Earlier each day…