Berlin, 1971 by DAH

As if clinging to the air
some strange holy light
rises as a reflection
on the cobblestone.

Berlin is cold
the canals dull and still
with floating debris
of what’s lost and broken.

Three-am, December’s freeze
makes it hard to feel:
there's a man and woman
standing
without sound, with only kisses.

In deep shadows, a lone woman
fades under the din,
her garments trailing, like kites
diving and darting. Black hair
caught in tangles.

Nobody, not even the rats
groping the trash,
feels these icy words:
it’s coming on Four
I should be sleeping with you

but the grief we cause is useless
so, I’m walking the streets
caught by winter’s undertow,
in need of whiskey, coffee,
a lover’s warm words. 

DAH is a multiple Pushcart Prize and Best Of The Net nominee, and the lead

editor for the poetry critique group, The Lounge. The author of nine books of

poetry, DAH lives in Berkeley, California, and has been teaching yoga to children

in public and private schools since 2005. He is working on his tenth poetry book,

which is due for release in September 2020, from Clare Songbirds Press.   

visit: www.dahlusion.wordpress.com