For Freydke

I don't remember faces. People erased. Of many stairs,
Only the creak of wooden steps without a bannister.

The wooden steps up to my garret, six by six,
Where under the roof sparrows come to parties
And drink and cry and laugh till daybreak.
I don't remember faces. Their heirs are ruins.

The creak of wooden steps up to my garret winces:
Ah, the poet Leyzer Volf, not the creak of my princes …
Who taught a shadow to play in the nights?
A flash inscribing in the clouds sky-notes.

Fiddle cases of wooden steps. Inside — the musicians,
Their music drew us off to different regions.
Up to our neck in silences: catastrophe —
But I caught Sirius in a single strophe.

The garret went off to Ponar. The faces too. Of many stares,
I remember the creak of wooden steps without a bannister.

1979