Letná’s Chorus

Sometimes I wake up so sad. 
This morning I had to force myself  
to put on my boots, to leave my room.  
Outside my door I find the city  
cold and brewing with busy city people walking fast.  

I, too, walk fast  
toward the river. Across  
one of its many bridges  
to a place with trees. 

I look for their waving leaves, 
follow their call up granite stairs, 
to a bench dressed in graffiti  
overlooking the waking city.  

I count chapel spires  
piercing the sky. 
I count arched bridges  
connecting the two sides. 

The river is shining; the sun is kissing  
its rippling shoulder just as it is kissing mine. 

The leaves are singing. The wind is blowing 
my hair, my cheeks. 

I can’t help but sing, too. 
The chapel bells begin ringing 
and the Great Dane behind me starts howling. 
The birds, I just now hear them chirping. 
And the man with the dog, he  
he has begun whistling!