Slavs
(for GC)

Some kind of metaphor: the snow
Falling all over everything, the wonderful
Simplicity
Of the stage machinery exposed
Expressing the regenerative purity of winter,
Warm hibernations of feeling, the inevitability of
The snow (standing
On your roof brushing it from your hair, kissing
Your wet eyelashes) falling here on the cold
Edge of the world, your heart
Red as draperies, poppies, painted
Lips (terrible puppetry of politics, parody
Upon parody, eventually extinguishing
The sun) the snow falling all over everything (something
To talk about on the way to
Dinner...Kiev? Moscow?) scenery revolving, revealing
Room upon room, the cold edge
Of the world with the snow
Falling (making some sort of
Peace with the world, the people
In it, what we've done) all over everything, two
Men talking (the distance
Between here and heaven not as far
As it might seem) the fate of the whole
World balanced, the delicate, silver
Tension of conversation, the snow
Falling all over, under the white
Light illuminating lines of experience,
(Pain, suspicion, regret, fear floating like
Snow behind golden eyes) everything
Drawn up into tight
Knots of words (do we become angels, when
This is all over?) love engendering some
Cumulative transformation, our souls and
Bodies woven over time into a
Bright net, flung into the sky (deciding
This is what we can do, we can do
This) from the cold edge of the world
Descending, like the snow
Falling all over everything.