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To Karin: Brandenburg Gate
Like some dark frail bird
she quivered and fluttered
there at my door
one dark cold Advent night,
swearing to return
come the new year
with a photo of Brandenburg Gate.
Arms, hands, fingertips, eyes,
then nothing between us
but electrified space –
her light tread descending the steps –
my heart drawn downward
by the diminishing sound.
Sometimes still my heart is snared
between winter
a swirling hem
and Brandenburg Gate
and I write a letter
which will never be mailed
to Karin.
Copyright ©
Roxanne Andorfer
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