CRITICA

When I say Prague I mean magic
The heaviness of my heart
pushing through the thick veil of the heat wave
Somewhere underneath the Žižkov TV Tower
there are spirits

We walked in the park behind the American Embassy,
but did not want to get too close
The gorgeous view the golden light the warm air and
surveillance devices
I was wondering are they paying attention

I was stunned by the view of the city
I was asking, what interest do they have here
I thought of people climbing the walls of embassies
I was wondering would they shoot us if we got too close
I knew I was overreacting, and he thought it was a joke,
but I was not kidding
I was happy I was far I could not get away

We circumambulated the city via the longest routes
I yearned for the absolute annihilation in the 2 AM view from the Charles Bridge drunken tourists interspersed with the statues of saints
The dissimulation of my heart in one hand. The ungraspable beauty in the other.

There was summer rain on my face as I took the 3 AM bus to the airport
A part of me now counts the waves on the Pacific ocean
A part of me lingers in that rain