THE VENICE OF BYDGOSZCZ
dark beer by the Brda river
tastes totally different
than in Czech Prague
is has smoothness
of the seaweeds held by the stream
and bitterness of parting
the bridges heavy from padlocks
just like in Venice
are fastening the shores with an open-work arc
a lonely bench on the embankment
is looking at the Sunday fishermen
it is waiting stubbornly
for tired passers by
or impatient lovers
the willows are looking at themselves in the river
the wind is brushing their long green hair
I’m looking at myself in this water too
maybe it remembers me