Budapest   Danube is too thick   to swim in the summer   heat waves, the fan in grandmother’s parlour is cracked, women with smooth skin and dark heels, spying.   From the window arrives a slow revelation this is how the morning comes, this   is how morning comes, this is how   hot steam of laundry, rising bread meets  cracked cobblestone, the church bells   sharp, ringing out & quick prayer.   Bridges at noon sway over river & poison Heat, dusty heat coats buildings, arched doorways, wrought iron framework, perfumery’s gloss, Evelin in embroidery, the sun a lemon   bleaching our skin, our boys with cigarettes in their mouths, hopping underground turnstiles, feeling the glassy echo of their feet, wings in their hearts to leave one day. Crimson   carnations and faded posters. The Hosok ter statue declares Budapest the most beautiful girl who’ll make you look twice, smack into a wall   then dash away, the trolley shaking its hips whips by and she is gone.   fading into gypsy music on the street corner, lamps explode into light and breathe   smell of paprika, sausages, pastries. Where a moon bursts each night as a wildflower humming, humming noise where the fountains come on at dawn.   Of all beautiful things, you are the most quiet.     - Maria Lenart