"..Open City"
“Today I want to see your eyes without anger
Brown city, growing on the hills.
Poems are short tragedies, portable, like transistor radios.
Paul lies on the ground, it’s night, a torch, the smell of pitch.
Impatient glances in cafés, someone yells, a small heap of coins lies on the table.
Why? Why not?
The roar of cars and scooters, hubbub of events.
Poetry often vanishes, leaving only matchsticks.”
–Adam Zagajewski, from “Eternal Enemies”
arch.memory 