The moon’s swollen belly shadows the courtyard.

Winds toss tangled vines like witches’ snaky hair.

 

In the latticed gazebo a stooped professor bows his violin.

Plaintive strains numb the night sky with heart-losses: Kiev, and now Sonya.

 

The whitening of her raven hair had awed him.

Her body, hardened by scrubbing floors, comforted their bed.

Gnarled fingers kneaded and blessed their Challah.

Her wisdom bridged their past to their New York flat.

 

Clinging to Rock, their calloused hands worked through hardships.

The Silent One listened.

 

The melody wanes into silence.

Darkness yearns for communion.

 

Yet his fingers itch to play again.

From beyond the stars, Sonya’s leitmotif sings.

A pregnant hush offers her breasts.

He weeps.

 

 

 

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