19th Annual Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day) Poetry Issue

I went to the horror film
with a victim of its horror,
and though he was not my relative
I kissed his cheek,
blue track veins
under skin of winter paper white.

Various “miracles” had brought him
to this not very clean theater;
silent on that subject,
he took his seat among those with no idea
this was his life.

And when they loaded the trains, he was the cargo.
And when they dumped the ashes, his were absent.
The projector has no conscience,
in dark we sit
as events unfold, before one who folds his eyes.