Never been to Berlin.
This sunny cold
morning in the alley
behind my front-of-
house apartment life
brings me to tears.

It’s the wind
except when
it isn’t. I used to be
all back of house.
Haven’t lived
in one in decades.

The child who plays
the xylophone won’t fear
the way traditional ballads
get wedged in,
how low
his chant goes,

the way trees bend
to kiss her.