klezmer at the end of days

this enorm­ous lan­guage fills my mouth
i stumble frantic over simplicities
this world has been worn blind sacred smooth
and in its empti­ness, her thou­sand elab­or­ate machines
tick intric­ate in gor­geous symphony.
my tongue is pon­der­ous huge
i want to speak to you
but instead what falls from my throat
is the rasp­ing tuning of strings.
you are salt-stiff. we both bleed and ache.
you sit. you unpack your case, care­fully, lovingly.
you, who I have loved.
you, lover of the duende of voices cracked with sorrow
you, who will be left to ser­en­ade the world in its dying sun
you, who will be left to play the post-apo­ca­lyptic violin
you, who will be left to mourn for all of us,
lift your bow, and the sweet, ter­rible notes of your agony
billow over the city, raw as velvet.