This city of old cobbled streets all sprung
around the river (with the name alike
the sound it makes) is quite the stranger sight
to us whose world was built up rung by rung
into a boxed-up country. In the night
the greyness seeps between the stones, but like
the waters of the Vltava are wrung
through air that breathes a different kind of light:
and as this Prague we see before our eyes
sprawls open underneath our feet (a land
we dreamt of once upon a time) what we
do gain is but some moment which we bend
to find ourselves within each other’s hand,
so far beyond where we both used to be.


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