For Yom HaShoah, based on Ezekiel, Chapter 37:

At least, then, there were bones.
Ezekiel might survey an astounding valley
stinking of death long past,
bones bleaching in the sunshine
for the eyes of vultures.
At least there were bones, then.

We are left, though, with nothing
save pits-turned-parks
and mounds of ashes
resembling Jews in no remote way,
and a veil of smoke blown
years ago from Birkenau and Terezin
to the farthest stretches of the earth.

How shall we make the smoke live?
How shall the ashes separate
into children and woodcutters,
scholars and brides?

We see ovens and know Your All Power,
Your mysterious, incredible Will.
Now help us, by Your unknown energy,
give life to Your Jews.