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In the Confines of a Dream
By Sy Roth

Their skin touches mine
Hair on end in the cold, tickling,
Vibrating with amoebic fear on an endless loop.
I could not look.

They braved separation from each other,
Buttock to buttock, fearful of the trap
Where shame brays an insulting reality
Nascent scents buried in their catacomb.

Then a quiet and God’s name echoes in their canyon 
Hear me. Hear me! 
And the eye above peers, a blue orb.
If it could smile, it did.

The dream is long, an arduous journey,
Skins now cling to other skins
And long grooves are etched in it
Hieroglyphs of people predisposed to perish.

In the darkness, they find Jacob’s ladder
And the angel offers no consolation, wrestling with words
Hear me! Hear me! He hears not
And the screams are a balm to the others. 

The azure eye above seals fate in their catafalque--
In brief remembrance of the host and their parsec of loss,
The conclusion, an electric denouement, a splash of exhalation,
A remote offering to the gods of fire.

I saw them, the cleansing men.
I parked above the heap
In sordid indifference to their bestiality
Clinging to the apex of our nightmare.

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