Shifting shades afflict the ghost of David Rodinsky.         
As he returns to his room in Whitechapel, London,           
For one last look at Aramaic and Hebrew text.             
Which provide for the hex of disappearance.

                                  Where he came from nobody knows.                               
                                                     Was he Jewish? Yes and No.                                                   Was he British?
Who knows? Not he. 
Certainly, he lived here once: ate, slept, defecated.       
Until 1969, when he took time in hand, walked out         
of his room, leaving all behind. He never returned

Until now.
A shy ghost wondering what on earth to do.       
Kabbalah was his A to Z.
First, he followed.
Then, he lead 
himself out of the strange interstices of time and space.
Some say he was too early,
Others state he was too late.   
Obsession/possession, gripped his very soul.                   
Oh! David Rodinsky will never grow old.