City Poems: St. Petersburg

A focal point. To the North, at least…close as Sunset, the
harbors ice-locked but for Brief Summer.

still: The Fragrance in floral hues of poetic monarchies,
April-ending snow-flowers and the yellow oil-drums
in a line by the Waterside.
Now: thawing for Spring (which is here. Of course)
the eye-dazzling Palace, and the feeble cries of the Past.

People remember. Like it or not, the gleaming offices
erected of excusable Revolution. Red-tinted, tho',
the ruined Statures whispering held mysteries
every Living Man would jump to explain.
Really! The East rose and fell and rose and
Sustained the instability, stormy in the hearts of Men,
Bourgeois-fantasy and Stalinism. Return! Return!
Unilateral, by Slavic standards at least.
Remove the Name. All of it, the ice-locked Harbor too,
German-sounding O…Stalin