Prague: Charles Bridge
Three forts adorned with arms linked by a rosary
Where fervour was captured in stone and in pageant,
Were a jail roofed with slate and with epic legend
That in twisted soaring flared up - a cemetery
If it were not prolonged by a new reasoning
For gold waits in the mud and is to sprout ready
And song and marble must mingle their ecstasy
To make meads of knowledge thrive for the haymaking.
This is a cry-scanned arch uniting high and low,
Where intent demons strive to bend the vaulted bow
To be better mirrored, torn to shreds, in the silt,
And leaning o'er the stream where lies this dead shadow,
I am lost, wondering if I am gate or bridge
And leave my reflection for the river to shift.