On Charles Bridge

Before my half-open eye
A golden berry, glistening, immaculate and dripping wet.
Suspended in the greymist mingling
The black running river
And Charles Bridge bulk.

Eyes half-closed, half-open
I see water, rain, wet blackstones.
My eyes follow a glimmer of light
On a sharp branch from the dark bank
I stand gazing at the twisted branch and blink.
And remember golden days when sunlight fell
Like drops of honey on berries
Glistening liquid glowing
Immaculate shiny flowing
Dripping, falling into the river.

I see a white Christmas berry speckled in red,
And hear childhood campfires crackling;
Merry bells ringing,
Dinging, donging,
So long ago.

With open eyes I gaze on Charles Bridge---
Slow, slurping river
Dark stoney expanse.
Gulls gaggling
For bread balls
From black-gloved girls’ hands.

Bridges’ passengers pacing,
Clopping, thudding, clicking.
Voices in language rising and falling.
So many faces
Saints’ stoney stare
Frozen footbridge eternal
Neverchanging, glaring
In the mist,
In the fog.
I hear a melody rising from my feet into my heart;
Symphonic melody pulsing all around me.
No more walls, the thundering from the sidewalk,
The roar of dull rhythm rises
And squanders my fragile sound.
In the corridor of calmness I recapture the melody but it is caged and small.

I walk out once again on Charles Bridge
And hear exact nightsounds in all of their beauty and squalor,
And keep on walking.