Every candle

I am away
in a land where I do not know how to count,
the days
roll along while I walk cobbled streets with precision
back stepping through mistaken turns.

My mother's father's tongue about me
I wander streets traveled by those he loved
seeing discoveries there invented
walking down history that led to his profession

and my freedom in a new world
unbound by common condemnation
no goose stepping in line
to bells that mark the time
Freed to think beyond isolating walls

of truths that hide

and yet protect

that surround but also strangle

but once unwound what can

be bidden to hold us close and not forgotten?

So there in every kirche
with the grim saints over looking
skeltoned remains for only one euro,
I light two candles
in prayer for parents
whose time is shortly measured
and thank the youth, soon a father,
who set us each on paths tangential.