Walked in the cold air
Freezing breath on a window plane
Lying and waiting
A man in the dark in a picture frame
So mystic and soulful
A voice reaching out in a piercing cry
It stays with you until
The feeling has gone only you and I
It means nothing to me
This means nothing to me
Oh, Vienna
This city is every bit as majestic and impressive as I had imagined.
I have been confronted by so many examples of the purest genius here,
I stand amazed, shattered and silent:
The marionettes come to life on a tiny stage, perfectly lifelike
every motion as human as each slender string will allow
acting out that wonder masonic allegory, The Magic Flute
in the city where Mozart was buried as a pauper
and now marzipan chocolates are named after him..
I meet my imaginary lovers, Albrecht Dürer in his Ventian drag-
every line a testament to his perfect sense of proportion..
Egon Schiele and his long, lovely fingers of which he was so proud,
his portraits of Wally and Edith and Edouard and that Rainer boy
echo and glow in an empty room, his eyes going wild
until in 1918, fever took him.
I can feel those eyes on me there,
appraising and outlining
the light limning every edge..
There is a voluptuousness here, and revelation.
And dear, dear Gustav- natürlich! his golden kiss
and lovely maidens surrounded by halos of gilt fish scales and flowers..
Here you can smoke in banks, but not in taxis..
People are shockingly amiable, the sacher torte is dreamy
and there is a coffeehouse are on every corner.
I made a pilgrimage to Cafe Mentone for letter-writing
and nearby the obligatory record buying,
many rare treats were found, and I was not one to deny myself them, alas..
Grandfather has a cold from all this autumnal bluster,
but it has not slowed him down a bit-
He is quite an intrepid traveller for all his 89 years..
And then today we saw this:

Having never seen an actual Bosch in the flesh,
it took at least two hours for me to take it all in..
If this is purgatory, I am glad to be a sinner.
He makes paradise look so damn dull.
Tomorrow I shall endeavor to visit
the Deutschordenhaus on Singerstrasse
and if the weather turns,
perhaps a ride on the giant ferris wheel?
And more cake of course, in the meantime..
The music is weaving
Haunting notes, pizzicato strings
The rhythm is calling
Alone in the night as the daylight brings
A cool empty silence
The warmth of your hand and a cold grey sky
It fades to the distance
The image has gone only you and I
It means nothing to me
This means nothing to me
Oh, Vienna