(From Auschwitz)

A hawk hovers, and it is certain

that somewhere in this forest, death

lives here too. Circling, we don’t know

if the predator hates, but it will slice

through the trees and strike

when it spots what its hunting, regardless.

And it will feast on terror.

Then it will stop. It will rest. Until

instinct sounds again. Nature

knows its limits.

We are an entirely different matter. Massacre

our meaning and our end,

with only the rocks left

to bear witness and weep.