Last night in Berlin, as I walked to catch the last train,
a man turned into a fox. Looking back over his shoulder
he checked me out. Having satisfied himself my intentions
were good, he crossed the street & disappeared. Loners staggered
like tightrope walkers towards me, faces concealed in hoods,
slurring into glowing hands.
Some turned into birds. A Magpie, a Robin, a Hawk & two no one
knew the names of. End-of-the-day drunks sat alone to hang
their heads, stare into the floor on empty trains, hands limp
between the knees. I join them, my friends, my still cherished
old companions & we slip unseen without confrontation through
imaginary holes in walls from West to East. The architecture of
another time still visible in the fever-light of alleys.
No guns, no razor wire to hang off on the way to freedom,
just the price of a train ticket no one bothers checking.