Girls on the Bridge
In the lamplit air
of those Berlin cafes,
he would see long, blond tresses
and quickly drift away.
He thought back to three girls
looking into the quay
from the railing of a bridge
after a summer day
in his village in Norway.
Their remembered forms
floated through his head
like a graceful nocturne,
a beauty unsaid.
They looked away
from his practiced eye
into the calm mystery
of water drifting by.
A yellow moon was rising
distantly in the sky
of milky azure fading
on a night in July
that never seemed to die.
Their remembered forms
floated through his head
like a graceful nocturne,
a beauty unsaid.
The white buildings
and three linden trees
flowed upon the water
in a calm unity.
He yearned back to that scene
when drinking and lonely,
the soft, twilight images
like smoke winding slowly
above his melancholy.
Their remembered forms
floated through his head
like a graceful nocturne,
a beauty unsaid.
1994
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