New York, slikhes nakht*

West End Avenue corner of 79th Street,
outside Carlebach’s shul,*
black-suited mercy makers gamble,
eyes darting, “who by fire who by water”
and who by plane crash,
tonight the first slikhot* are read,
the Upper West Side is quiet,
only Jews walk the pavement,
and He seems to have a voice
that asks forgiveness before the gate is shut.

The last bar is about to close now,
and I sit alone, humanity passing
through my thoughts, my prayer-book
for the Days of Awe
lies before me. I seal the verdict.
The waitress washes down the sidewalk.

ניו יורק, סְלִיכֶעס נַאכְט

ניו יורק, סְלִיכֶעס נַאכְט