New York: February 1965

Gabriel Preil

1965

On a day transparent with light
like a landscape by Monet,
my childhood broke away
from a small Jewish town
and glided on ice
blue in the distance—
while a small cloud hovered in me
like a cloud of a Shakespeare sonnet.
Perhaps because I was ill
the frosty town
meant to shower and solace me
with the almond tree’s fragrant snow
even though…
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