We stomp through deep soft snow
Clear white unblemished sparkling in the sun
untouched by any form of life
A vast field sloping toward dark green trees
in the mountains of Poland
We are searching for wolves
Hunting for wolf tracks
In four days
No wolves sighted
No wolf tracks found
Two days later
I find tracks
I tremble in the guard tower at Birkenau
seeing the death camp as it was
All structures preserved
Stark dark wooden barracks
stretching into the distance
toward domes of gas chambers and incinerators
Set against pristine white snow
untouched by any form of life
The black iron tracks end just below me
I see the train disgorging its passengers
on to the platform
Rough hands of armed guards grab,
shove and sort, quickly gauging
Those fit to work herded to the barracks
Children, the elderly, the weak and disabled,
unfit to work sent directly to the gas chamber
Death camp tracks
