The canine creatures caged and stared, 

The benign me, wordlessly, whimpered. 

From Zurich- I was in their land

Where the road rode righteous for them, 

My cynophobia, a moral travesty, instead. 


The white house, reared and mowed, 

The herbs of memory that shrubbed, 

Bad Sackingen- I was in someone’s life

Whose jam jar and marmalade beckoned 

Beyond the taste and touch of the known. 


That day the sky broke its blueness whole

Blurring the blackness of Nature’s broccoli. 

Black Forest- I was in its cuckoo clock

Serenaded by souvenirs, seduced by its pastry 

While Waldhaus Wonder soothed the parched and parry. 


The tram trailed its own train of thought, 

The street cafe, serving, a foreign palate.  

Freiburg- I was in its cobbled past

Haunted by its witch hunts, violence and vice

Now burning bright in capitalist’s caprice. 


The attic room, the roof of my foreign home

Seemed stuffed with strange sentiments. 

I was in a Land Far From Home

Where my return suitcase refused to make way, 

For the excess baggage of thought, turning and triumph.