Hanukkah

This season for us, the Jews— a season of candles, one more on the seven-branched candlestick for the seven days of the week, but let it be seven in the sense of luck in dice, seven of the stars in the constellations: Orion, Aldebaran in the sky lively over Jerusalem Let the fuel last the besieged       such as we are, to nourish us. Let the oil continue for heat, for illumination, flame crouching in the lamp, the glass smoky (December upon us) the light not fail. The air has been mild for days— & the 7 rings through my life despite the 8 of this week— bushes in the doorway of 7 Charles where I lived, 51, crackle with dryness, are bare still. That house with the lucky number brought me luck & misluck, both, like the other that added to 7, out of 4 & 3, that seven underlying the eight of this week, the 8 just over, the 7 just under a third of the years with Stefan: I praise them both today— the lasting oil in the seven-branched candlestick: absence of all fear—the smallest drop of fuel enough to leap from. new york, 1973