As I stared out the window on the cold, East side.
A magpie came to me.
I , from English superstition,
Said ‘good-morning’ po-lite-ly.
“1 for sorrow
2 for joy
3 for a girl
4 for a boy.”
Somehow its feathers, stark and bold,
Held Berlin’s story , in each fold,
and bright distraction.
Black and White.
East and West.
Now mixing into a meaningless shade of grey.