Nights

Leah Goldberg

1943

All those things whose names I hushed
in secret, I meet in the night’s abyss.
I face the dark. Alert, remembering. Silently,
again I’ll let you in—my friends, my beloved dead.
And here you are as then, crowned with the small serenity
of bright gardens and roadside lawns. . . .
In the folds of your clothes—a whole year’s worries
and the…
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