I know you best by the gray of your winters
when road salt coats the sidewalks
and a witch of wind rides down the Danube
whistling around pedestrians on your broad bridges
- except there are no pedestrians
- save for me -
river crossers huddle in yellow trams
or pack into the Metro that rolls under the river
I know your beauty can be unsullied
I've seen a Budapest in bloom,
under blue skies and cotton clouds
But your gray days lend a distinguished air
a melancholic miracle is birthed from gloom
a sweep of story,
a piece of poetry,
that would move a stoic to tears
And escape is always close at hand
for Kürtőskalács fires sunshine in my mind
