Meidieval Clock in Bruges

The vernal sun melts our hurries;
antique parsimony disguising itself
into the breeze
running, but, gently
between canals, smiling
upon their own magic.

Green that floats among the prairies
and minute hills, wave, like the water
greeting their windmills-
all in harmony with a spring
that arrives without our waiting



Perhaps after countless centuries-
of seasons and travelers-
your plazas of humble elegance,
have grown accustomed
to living without the passing
of time.