To have words trampled
Beneath the cart wheels
On the streets
of old St Petersburg
Crimes a mystery
Hung backlit
By brazen streetlight
Broken, worn, blue
Time it takes
To decide ~ are they done?
Will they heal?
Slowly drip feeding
Stew of broth
Building marrow
Until the shine
In the eyes returns
Upon hearing
A chorus
Seeing a glorious
Image of affection
At mere mention
A novel moment
Produces a turrent
Cascading into
Rivers winding
Bringing life
Bearing it to sea
Setting free

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