(oh, københavn, how i miss your fresh flowers, & the bicycles that tried to squish me as i crossed your streets...)
(how i miss hearing the guttural sounds of dansk, all those tasty swallowed vowels)
(& all your fantastical nordic architecture, including this shrieking valkyrie who looks like she coughed out a bus.
(Nothing much, just thinking about earlier this summer, & the seminar in Copenhagen.)
* * *
(poem-bits)
in copenhagen
"...that in this moment there is life and food /For future years." – William Wordsworth
in copenhagen, we talked.
talked all day during classes
over endless tea & wienerbrød
talked as we walked back
to the hostel, past cyclists
swooping over bridges,
their bells like swallows crying,
sudden & gone ringing over the canals
where we sat & talked,
swinging our legs, sipping tuborg &
eating soft-is, tour boats &
accordions moving on past --
til dinner, down strøget we tipped
over cobblestones, & feasted
on thoughts:
how everything brought us
together, our expressions &
stories & dissertations & lives
& we poured them out
like good wine, all sweet & difficult
& maddening in their complexity
you can’t describe but will
die trying all the same, because
it’s just so good to be talking,
talking with the honesty of
strangers, intensity of intimates
in an academic ecstasy, all night
our words exploding like fireworks,
we left smoke hanging over tivoli
like fields of phantom dandelions,
turning every ashy seed into a star
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