and arrows on the town hall clock stop turning,
you will find him on the market square,
sweeping leaves in shadows of despair.
And in that instant you will cease your yearning.
Hunchbacked, with a chuckle he will share
the secrets of his heart, and give a warning
to city doves assembling at his feet,
to sparrows quarrelling on Neptune’s head.
He’ll lower his tobacco chin to meet
their eyes and whisper what Saint Francis said.
He’ll toss crumbs with his withered sailor’s hand.
And when he looks up, you will understand.Poem The Birdman of Gdansk,
by Leo Yankevich
