Do you know those secret places in the park
where the early morning fog weaves spider-webs
after the chill of midnight. It raises the tenuous
filigree. Threads the pearls, then
joins them together. And the park fills
with light, while the mist collects into drops
on the crests of the leaves, and from the heights
of the branches you are observed by watchful eyes.
From Berlin-Hamlet,
by Szilárd Borbély