MIMOSA Poem by Durs Grünbein

Sometimes at night it comes back, that one day in Rome,
When the snowstorm in the centre of the globe abates,
Your fingers glide south and mine.
The metronome
Of hours stops dead and we're in the eternal glyptotheque.
Taking the taxi again, past all the crumbling arcades,
Past capitals truncated by time, torsos flayed by the sun,
Sneaking in behind the backs of those dripping-wet naiads,
Before plunging at last into Bernini's fantastical world.
Take it all in! Gazelles in skirts and skin-tight trousers,
A patchwork of marble, obelisks carried by elephants,
Baroque flights of clouds drunk here in espresso cups.
Stopped at the traffic lights, street boys flogging mimosa.
That one day shrank, as we touched, to a moment
And we sank, in each other's arms, into the hotel mirror