Two Scenes on Landwehrkanal

In daylight now

thirty swans are called upstream,

beneath this bridge where men

and men find patterns

to trace with their fingers, taste

sweetness of brown taffy, hear sweetnesses

though rough and small and raspy. 

One evening on this used river,

I watched a man fall from just

above the bank. Legs tucked

and nose covered, he left

his coat in reach of the willow tree

that made it through

February’s plot. I want to know.