Melanie Maier Poetry - Other Poems

People run in the streets. Those who fall, ashes ashes. There on the balcony a small boy dressed in white.

A stone building - its wrought iron gates, mosaic floors, oriental rugs, so much more, left among twisted vines. That boy keeps: the tops of his grandfather's boiled eggs, the jumping from wine barrel to wine barrel, marzipan cakes, the scent of decay.

Everything’s changed nothing's changed. Today the sun dissolves and gray covers that star gazer, as memories come with drops of rain over Mainzerstrasse.