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Petrin Hill 

Korey Hurni

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Today I am going to make less
about me, and more, well,
I’m not sure yet, but I will
wash clean this ego like a graffitied
wall and walk through the gardens
planted on top of the hill
quietly, so quietly, that I
would be mistaken for wind,
but unlike the wind, I will not touch
all I see. I would leave the roses
especially alone. Everything
in its own delicate place. Below
there is a city with towers and bridges
and other old architecture, and while
I must be disinterested in all that
in order to efface this ego of mine,
I have to admit, anyone would,
that you do get a better view from up
here. History is not a form
of nostalgia, but history has proven
me wrong. Why do I feel unbearably
light? You would not be entirely wrong
to think me naked.