Stiefel

Your boots touch the ground

and the city answers.

With every step the wind grows more awake.

It lifts your hair, lets it dance for a moment,

as if it were carrying the melody further.

Your coat follows it

a fluttering beat between you and the street.

Everything becomes music:

the asphalt, the breath of the city,

the small echo running along behind you.

And suddenly I understand:

Sometimes it takes no song.

Sometimes boots are enough.