Half circle, two levels. Wooden benches
kids had struggled to sit still in.
Wooden benches that probably squeak;
sixty year old grooves in the wood; at one time,
maybe, the usual seat. Vespers of the last
wedding. An elaborate stained glass menorah,
white, set under a deeper blue. Stone
windows, carvings. Illuminated by street lamps.
The bronze's taken out, put into the hall.
A leak in the roof. Five, maybe six days of rain
dripping, distracting away bits
of the dark (it's night). But not adding
any light. Just a neglected bucket.
In three months, razed. Later
some edificio, they said. A ladder.
Bits of the window also taken down.
Shadows and lights.
Downstairs the rest of us grab more challah,
a few more chips, and leave.