In August the way between the Kremlin and the Volga
Can seem like New York or Paris on a perfect Spring day
It leads me into outward reflections
Of all the lovers dared shared
And to ponder
If their daydreams drift
I might be a mirror
And lead them to a similar reflection
So I could say they are remembered
How they see themselves in me
In all my hidden corners.
It’s something there in the senses
To be sure of your unsuredness
Thinking you will never taste the same
Even though you taste the same
Even though you’re sure.
I look up at the sun balancing on the crest
Of Russia’s tall red wall
And contemplate on how something so pure of light
Could turn a whole world black
If watched but for a moment too long
And also make this flower at my feet
Bloom such lustrous shades of color
While leaving not a taste of
The perfume you were so sure you’d find
When you bent to take it in.
So when you finally come to the corner
Which bends in
Instead of out
You have to think for a moment
Which side of life you’re really on.