by Pavel Chichikov
Slim as a girl, an angel person,
The rose tree in a friars’ garden,
No taller than a girl is tall,
The outer cities ended, all,
Shadow-casting things knocked down,
Wire grass and yellow ground,
But in this place the crooked hate
The love-red-blossomed tree is straight;
Within the small and precious gard
The rooted dances heavenward
(See Pavel's new book, Mysteries and Stations, here.)
