Into the night he releases
his wordless poem,
rhythmic and perfectly metered;
then pauses to consider it
before a new trope of sound
rises with the steam from his mouth.
This cold winter, this Moscow night,
loneliness, or some ancient ache
for belonging is our common inspiration.
But I am the lesser poet,
in need of words to beg beneath the moon
for connection.
Mary Metzger is a New Yorker living in Moscow