Stolpersteine*
Someone is at work, prising
out paving stones.
The work looks proper,
official, though he is wearing
a cement-dusted leather cowboy
hat.
Someone has made space for
something, a little block capped
with brass, a square
palm-print outside one
of the houses of the nameless.
Someone has done his homework:
HIER WOHNTE _____
a name, date, whatever’s available and
can be packed.
Someone has hammered in, punched each
letter and number,
each dent in the silence of the clean
sheet,
each word ringing with blows.
Someone has laid it in your tracks,
something to stumble on:
a street testing its voice, ghost of a
shine,
blind spot flickering off.
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