About Freiburg, 1968
After all the years, what’s left
are names. Fasnet in Emmendingen,
weekend Bummeln with an upturned
thumb. Breisach imperially sealed
to the Habsburgs, still guarding
a foggy Rhein To Bagersee, how many
stops along the Strassenbahn. Ganterbier
and Kaiserstuhl, Totenkopf’s volcanic
crown. He snapped my picture
in a stubblefield of Drachenzähne
from the last world war. Schwarzwald
Sundays, the path to Wendelin,
patron of shepherds, a saint enshrined
in birdsong.. Bodensee. That trek
up Schauinsland to look for
Switzerland. Donaueschingen
promising 1700 miles of Danube,
a waltz to the Black Sea we never
sailed. Thousands of years of names.
Every name to call but his.
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