WHAT REMAINS

When the Ming lost the mandate of heaven
Some who had opposed them became
Furiously loyal, retreating in one way or another
From the victorious Tatars. Some became hermits
Or birdlike men who stepped lightly, leaving no footprints.
Of those who fled further one skipped through time
Like a rock across water, turning up first
In a small town in Essex in the 9th century
Where they assumed he'd fallen from the sky.
They called him "the green man." He married
And had six children whose descendants to this day
Have nothing good to say of the Tatars.
Next, he looped about and was born
In a shtetl ten miles from Lemberg. The Baal Shem
Offered to bargain for his release from his fealty
To the last Ming Emperor but the Lvoviner refused
Asking who if not he would say kaddish
For the vagrant soul of the Chongzhen Emperor
Or the soul of the beautiful Princess Kunyi?

UNDERSTANDING

Dogs he understood, and cats would nod to him
As one well fit to give counsel in perplexity
But of the language of birds he had little
Enough to ask for directions, perhaps,
Or to know a joke was being told. Just as well,
He said, to hear birdsong as music. Winter geese,
If you let them, could break your heart.

ONCE MORE

If there was reason enough, I suppose
Baba Yaga could make a rough figure
From dust and twigs. St. Anthony might find something
Very like my soul, perhaps caught in a hedge
Or loitering with La Golue and Boneless Valentin.
The Lvoviner would recite a nine syllabled name;
His wife would correct his pronunciation.
The mad king would provide music; Li Po
Would bring wine and amuse the cats.
The magician's wand -- not the ebony one
Chased with gold but the plain ash stick
That works -- would be tapped three times
And there I'd be.

DOGS AND CATS

Dogs and cats used to visit the Lvoviner
Mostly towards dusk. The dogs would loiter
In the courtyard, pretending surprise
That accident had brought them there.
A gesture from the rav, one eyebrow raised
Or lowered, even a shrewd glance
Would satisfy them. Cats, though,
Convinced they were kin, would just turn up
In drawers and closets, under blankets,
Staying as long as they wished. Cold nights
Found them on the Lvoviner's chest, claiming
They were there to keep him warm.

TAKING A TROLLEY TO EBBETS FIELD

The Lvoviner dreamed sometimes
Of trolleys running to Ebbets Field
When he woke up he would ask
The Prince of Fire, who'd come by
From God knows where to smoke,
What a trolley might be,
Who Ebbet was and what sort of things
Might be found in his field.
The Prince would light his short pipe,
Take between one and four puffs
And explain. "Trolleys are female trolls
Big and very strong but kindly
In the future they will make a living
By charging a small coin
To carry children long distances.
Ebbet is not a man but a sort of tree
Which bears four different fruits.
Someday the trolleys will carry children

To a field filled with leafy ebbets
Early on summer mornings and watch them
As they run around all day or climb the trees
It late afternoon, the trolleys
Will  take the sleepy children home in their arms."
His pipe finished, the Prince of Fire
Would say good night and go off
To God knows where. The Lvoviner's cat,
Stretching, might say "Do you believe him?"
"Not a word," the Lvoviner would answer,
"But to be the Prince of Fire is hard
And sometimes he needs to talk."

CART

In dreams I can drive
Not cars but horse carts
My hands easy on the reins
Talking to the horses
Who know all my stories
But listen anyway.
In the cart behind me
The cat-headed man dozes
Holding still his crook'd staff.
Some debt is between us
But which way it runs
I have long forgotten.
If I asked the Lvoviner
He might be able to tell me
But he is a long four years dead
And liable to be cranky.