We were listening to Kraftwerk as we drove over the Solinki Bridge.
The city looked so magical,
far more beautiful at night than during the day.
It shimmered, and it mattered, because I was in love with you.

People don’t go there anymore, it’s too dangerous.
But animal life has returned: I’ve heard
there are thriving populations of wild horses and bears.

You didn’t like to think of your childhood, you said.
There were things in it too painful to consider.
It became a place of fairytale grandeur —
neglected, over-run with chopping knights and great thorns.

I tried to hold you, but I couldn’t hold you.
How can you hold a river, or a wish?
It’s like a dream of Asia, a cat’s lapping tongue pink against the milk.
But you went too fast. You slipped away in a moment.

The truth? you said. Yeah, I believe there’s a truth —
but we’re not set up to see it yet.
It’s like trying to look at the sun with the naked eye —
you just can’t do it for long, you’d go blind.
But the sun is still there.

When I was young, I remember, there was sunlight on your arms.
It’s not like chess, there’s no conclusion, no final say,
like when you take the king, that’s the end of the game.
In love, I guess, there’s no king —
but still, you play.

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