poetry diary

Born in my spring, of timeless histories;
searching for love, like a forlorn moon.
I am a river, wetting your cool earth.

My life is a flow, like a song in June;
playing in the mountains, dancing with light;
joining my sisters, challenging cold rocks.

And in the valleys – how I miss my youth –
I meander amongst cow-stained fields
and kiss your banks, fertile warming soil.

Darkening and chattering, eddying onwards,
carrying your mud, tasting your soft silt,
and giving succour to silvered fishes.

It is the sea, the sea, the sea I seek;
at last dissolving to wholeness with you,
and we are one in salt, and surf, and sand.

Connecting, Unter den Linden
with fallen lives and loves, like leaves,
scattered on the pavement – these wide streets
rolled flat like tank tracks; compressed history
conquered this autumn, as every year
by falling, floating, yellow leaves from trees
who’ve seen it all before (and after too).

I’m glad the trees won here, and imposed
their gentle victory parade and rhythm
on this great city: leaves, like fallen lives
and loves, and buds like people passing through,
this autumn evening,
in Berlin.

—————-

A city I’d like to go back to one day.