Kraków was overcast that morning, the hills steamed.
It was raining in Munich, in valleys the Alps
lay hidden and heavy as stones.

My favorite poets
never met
They lived in different countries

You like leafing through biographies
There you’re in another life
How strange, how startling

The blackened river ran through the park.
Past there, the numb gardens
were hemmed by thick braids of hedges.