Trafika Europe 2 - Polish Nocturne

1974. An old man holds a votive candle at the Polish- Ukrainian border. An ancient wax figure. His skin, a yellow paraffin. He came to Poland to get the candle for his grave. The religious votives are unattainable under the regime in Ukraine. The candle, a prayer clasped in his hands. He carries the unspoken Resurrection. Kitchen and the Apocalypse. The officer pulls the candle out of his hand and tosses it into the garbage can. Darkness, his candle. The dogwoods grow in silence. Who is the burning man? How can you know a candle from a moth? What illness springs from a lost place? Trees clasp their fiery hands. I smuggle a smoke film, ghosting. I want to carry him to the Mother of Exiles. To her beacon-hand, a glowing candle. Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. She lifts her candle beside the golden door. A polycandela. A drumming station. The intensity of the instance burns. A fire rises above his hands.


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