One day In Prague
I saw you again in the old hotel
by the square of the lesser quarter
and you sparkled
and you smiled and the afternoon sun
washed your hair
We rode a tram back in time
and we walked among stories of gods
and of kings and brothers, of popes
and of lovers and I saw you
as we stood above the monks garden
and the Vitava lay wide and silent below us
like it did for Judith long ago
When the sun had set you came
wrapped in a lambs coat
and on Charles bridge you loved
Prague and walked with me
where the hero towers quietly at the old town square
and I saw you there
in the Holy Spirit street
in the description of a struggle
in myself and thought about Kafka
Then you placed your perfect hands in the middle
of the table at dinner
on the white table cloth
and we both crossed by the candle and by the wine
over that bridge forever and you said goodbye
at the tram and showed me the way and waved
and I remembered you
as I walked alone to the lesser quarter
and on my bed in silence
Charles Freda is a man who forgets to be a poet. Sometimes, rarely, he is stirred to words.