God Hid His Face
Selected Poems of RAJZEL ZYCHLINSKY
 
The Bread Molds

The bread molds, 
rust eats into the pots. 
The waves dig into, 
drill into 
the shore. 
The fungus climbs to the hundredth floor 
and higher – 
the rust reaches the clouds, 
pursues them with its red rage 
and rusty rods.

The bread molds, 
the rust reaches the clouds.
 

Translated by Aaron Kramer 

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