In Leipzig, I wandered one midwinter night, and did what any poor vagabond traveller does: listen to street musicians and wander in to churchs to keep warm and admire the hard work of those long since passed. Afterwards I met up with a lover, and the joy of our meandering iced the whole evening with magic.
Nikolaikirche.
An old man stands
Neath a lamp in the dusk
Cold fingers dance
Over six penny holes
A flat cap gathers frost.
Breath sculpted into melody
Breath fogging the night
Outside Nikolaikirke:
Where breath and feet
Once toppled the walls.
Inside I’m handed a bible
With a watery smile
Congregation twenty strong
Rattle like beads
In the house of God.
Built for a city’s worth,
Their singing unheard beneath
The desperate organ,
Covering the lapse
With quick fingers.
The grandeur of it,
Towering empty above us,
Nobody behind the curtain.
Inside Nikolaikirke
I drop a penny in His cap.
I meet her in the cold,
She is all warmth.
Cobwebs sweep themselves
From my corners
An ice cube in hot milk.
When observed without judgement
On this day
Tossed back and forth
In some half-baked pizza house
Our devils morph
Into luftballoons.