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We have our autumn and we are
blessed. In the park, clouds
rest on the shoulders of
the Russian giants. The giants don't mind,
they are cleaning the rust from under
their nails that has hardened
over the summer. Tourists take pictures
of the parliament reflected
in a puddle on the uneven brick road.
No one notices the missing windows
except maybe the patinaed horse
resting in the square
who has been looking at them for years.
He does not see much except his own reflection
and the checkered hotel lights.
Children kick against the wind
on their way to school. Coffee
in small white plastic cups
spills on the books
lined up in boxes by the bus stop.
A man walks into a restaurant
where he meets a woman
he could fall in love with,
but feels like an intruder,
apologizes, leaves. Mothers
take their time before calling home
to say they will be late for dinner.
We will wait on the outside for another
two months. Yesterday,
we imagined walking this city
again. We met just one person,
praying, I think, on a bicycle.