Kafka It’s time to go to work. A Tuesday, say. Rain falling, the sun squandering its strength Over a landscape composed of gray clouds. The bridges of Prague, delicate, equine, Vault over the river. You’ll be thinking Soon of how to keep factory workers Safe. But there is time yet to imagine A story about an old bridge that grows Tired of people walking on its back.
That bridge. Now I will always have to thank the bridges I walk on.
Great writing!