The river stinks Lights fall into it from the left bank, stretch out with candles, become mini-moon paths And here, on the right bank, the tree trunks silently twist, weave themselves into thick webs in the dark I'm walking fast Someone runs past something rushes along the bike path The river stinks, but the city smells like spring I find it funny and disgusting I expose my hair to the wind - “pat it” If I were a cat, I would grab his back and fly to the other side, into the falling lights, I
