This morning’s fog 
floats 
outside my window 
blocking my vision of… 
what? 
I can hear 
the crickets singing 
and 
the whistle of a train in the distance – 
so I close my eyes 
to listen more. 
What I see in the sound 
of that train whistle
is so many Jewish faces 
crammed together 
in boxcars, 
in transit 
to their death.
The fog
lingers there as well,
surrounding them
with the fear 
of all they could not see,
but somehow knew was there, 
waiting for them 
when that horrible train ride 
was finally over. 
And now I wonder if 
the crickets sang for them 
on the morning of their murder…