long days &
flights from Jo'burg & London
& o, the oceans & countries between.
tense & chic hotel rooms offer no solace-
a night under stars
& black skies
over cobblestones older than my entire country-
between antique cream marble
cooled by summer night breezes.
a waft of coffee shop nestled between years of architecture;
wistful thoughts of "What's next" in the silent reverie
& snooty waiters
-"It's mélange, not cappuccino!"-
in outraged German accent.
no moon tonight
the semicolon before the next clause of my chapter-
other-worldly after the Ringstrasse & white horses
& emperors & waltzes & wasserfrau.
poor 19-year-old tourist;
the ghostly white-tiled spear that
struck the sky &
broke open Vienna's ebony heavens
pierced your heart,
& you, too, bleed stars