How do you remember a city
when yours is the flight of a bird
in a white span of wings?
You drew lines in the frozen light
describing somebody’s dream
without noticing

while the houses stood empty and over lit
along the grim winter mirror called gracht
you flew your fading shadow
—maybe catching the only ray of sunshine—
over the bridges and into somebody’s dream
again: without noticing

they had names for you
ground from a harsh alphabet
the bread was plentiful—
but the heart in the giving hands
was cold and needed to be fed—just like you—
fed with a dream that went unnoticed
while you flew out to sea

and you tasted the cracked salt
on your beak again
and you let your sharp eye
cleave the waves
in search of a silver fish.