The Art of the Question  
 

"Still Life with Smoke"

Through crematorium chimneys
a Jew curls toward the God of his fathers.
As soon as the smoke is gone,
upward cluster his wife and son.

Upward, toward the heavens,
sacred smoke weeps, yearns.
God – where You are –
we all disappear.

—Jacob Glatsein, “Smoke”

 
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