Urban Wanderer

I spent hours in front of your alter ego
at the Kunsthalle, that hot summer in Hamburg,
trying to see through the mist and to interpret
those peaks one by one, and trying to imagine
his expression: wonder, awe, concern, excitement,
or mere relief, after the long and strenuous climb?

His light shades of grey and blue
have turned red and black for you,
his day is your sunset, he stands straight while you’re curved:
tell me, urban wanderer, what is it you see
in those peaks, through the sea of fog?
Is it your past or your future? Hope or despair?

Two dark-cloaked wanderers above two misty seas—
Neither will reveal what he thinks, or what he sees.