Postolka (Prague)

When I was learning words

and you were in the bath

there was a flurry of small birds

and in the aftermath

of all that panicked flight -

as if the red dusk willed

a concentration of its light -

a falcon on the sill.

It scanned the orchard's bowers,

then pane by pane it eyed

the stories facing ours

but never looked inside.

I called you in to see.

And when you steamed the room

and naked next to me

stood dripping, as a bloom

of blood formed in your cheek

and slowly seemed to melt,

I could almost speak

the love I almost felt.

Wish for something, you said.

A shiver pricked your spine.

The falcon turned its head

and locked its eyes on mine.

For a long moment then

I wished and wished and wished

the moment would not end.

And just like that it vanished.