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
Low pizzicato Grows to resonant Rumblings Smooth like honey Touching on Harmonics Whispered words Tentatively Articulated Urging me on Telling me Love has won Wishing it would Appear to me Familiar turn Of phrase Accented praise Behind my shoulder Turn suddenly It follows me Dawning slowly This voice Is here Within