In two hours I had crossed half a continent,
And touched down in a city of three operas.
The dome of the Huguenot church
Looks in through my hotel window,
Streets are named for Humboldt and Von Kleist,
And even their graffiti is scrawled
In the language of Goethe.
But the wind lacks the salt off our Atlantic,
They have no gulls to keen the setting sun
And their streetlights have chased away the stars.