But the poets whisper incessantly in the streets of Zagreb. Memories and pigeons flutter in the Square's morning light. I awaken in this city of a thousand years. Then out of a blackened sky gallops the gaunt stallion. Hooves ignite stones.
Fire sweeps the land.
Through the years that follow I translate strange distant cries, invent names for shapes with blazing eyes that roam in the dense smoke. I breathe slowly release my words into the swirling winds. Finally I sleep and wake again. The square is quiet. Horse and rider arc from rain touched stones to dawn sky.