I asked the Master of Silence
why he rode horseback with the Cossacks
and he said, to peer
into the Eye of Heaven,
perhaps through the eyes of death.
I asked the Master of Silence,
a Jew, what he saw as he rode
and he spoke
of streetlamps and taverns and indolence,
watermills and ceaseless rains,
bright cherries in heaps, churches in flames,
slaughtered oxen and racing clouds,
bent women gathered by a well.
So daybreak and nightfall
and my silence.
No heaven awaits.