St. Basil – Joy Reid

A host of frozen flames,
Yuletide candles bundled, then Faberged.
Murano glass? Paperweights?
More Tartar Czar… cap rather bizarrely… errr
nippled and yet, today
with smudge-daubed clouds, you seem…
deliciously truffled.

Close-mouthed cones
upon what secrets have you battened?
Will you unzip releasing seed?

I yearn for a Moscow silenced by chill,
for endless night, wire branches, magnolia snow.
There is too much harried pilgrimage here,
too much Vashe zrodovye! – upended glasses

Give me icicles on brow,
a near-deserted Square and Saint Basil ablaze.