Bright day, sunlight spilling like liquid from a tipped pot,
staining the ground a light and dark marble; we sit
outside the Bauhaus school and watch as a group of students
raise an unspooled film of plastic, how the breeze fills it,
how it billows and curls organic, like a sea creature; in the park
we make a game of naming trees, birds, flowers, and waft
between the rippling walls of a cloth house: learn it's an artist's
response - feminist, environmentalist; postcard streets drip
with locals, with tourists, and we trickle through, find water,
find stamps, read out googled answers to our many questions,
leave laughter falling behind us; later, after mopping the last
spices from our plates, I free a fervid cry, this howl I carry
in my chest, for a limp future--
but boarding the return to Leipzig we're ebullient again,
trading chocolates, thoughts & anecdotes on opinions, living,
society, health - twittering children in a private sphere
while evening falls and Germany rushes past ever darker;
I think again of the plastic film outside the school, how
it reared and surged, how it breathed as it heaved,
organic.