Round like a Passover pancake
watchful and silent moon
has ascended over the rooftops,
Kaddish prayers have long diffused,
candles flicker out
dybbuks lurking in the corners
study the white gowns and loose black hair of the sleeping women.
Mice prowl in the walls,
stone wells tranquil,
olive oil lamps keep quiet vigil
while their flames dance with the shadows of the brooms and fire hooks.
Commodes and cupboards being covered in dust
and all the creatures inert and waxen.
Sleep, living things,
the night guardian
has paused the clock now.
I was prepared to feel alone, expected the government-mandated 2-metre gap to yawn between us, cold and hostile. I expected these new spaces to be