A Breath
A BREATH
Remembering the holocaust, deep in the soonest dream
Of a beloved is buried all my hope for you begun,
So I need not wait with oil and cloves to teem
Over the mind of history, or a silver gun –
Or gas chamber with the power on
When thousands surged and left their clothes behind
Bereft of rings and ornament which shone
As the glister of a tear, shedding was too kind -
Not so bitter then, and as a lowered head
Bids goodbye, to a grim life, like the slowing eye
A candle gleam of light will haunt those dead
Who all past passing, can multitudes descry
In one poet living with expectation, thinking thrill was death
Which came, in the last sentence before your final breath.
(on the anniversary of the death of Sylvia Plath, February 11, 1963)
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