top of page

Prague 1990

frozen gargoyles stare

over the night square where

willful roars of hope swell

from beneath a poet’s balcony

and glide across rainy


where lit pillars of melting colors

testify to the names

lettered across cardboards —

those who stood against

the hammer and sickle

and were slain,

so that the voices of ardor

could mix with the wet air

in this gotham,

as the young and the old

touch the open rose

for the first time.

bottom of page