Coming home from Leipzig and slept with my legs 
curled up, back arched against the window 
the driver avoided the main roads
and so we took a curious route, 
mapped out 
I suppose in advance
the man in front of me was coming in from Bucharest 
when I arrived home I was miles away
Is it comforting to have the concrete bulk of the Bundesfinanzministerium building as a waymark? 
the obscurity of swatiskas chipped off buildings
the place has so many long words with dark shadows
and there were so many shadows by the canal of course
the late bus was impossible
as you can imagine it was better to walk
The untergrund was barred and a grist of homeless people lay against the orange tiled walls
a culture of bacterium
a seige of cranes
a dissimulation from Romania 
a  quiver from Bad Berka
all waiting for the morning
that pale view of no hills
and when I got to Seestraße through the window of a speilhaus
or a shisha lounge, 
one of the markers of difference

two lovers through a window
tucked together
we were the last people left awake