by Pavel Chichikov
Sometimes an infant sitting on a mother's lap
Dandled and awakened from a summer nap
Fine hair curling, wisps arching in a breeze –
She wipes away the drool of sleep and lets him sneeze
Sometimes the infant swelling, bright and high
Becomes a dark lacuna of an empty sky
Far and unapproachable his precious eyes
Inconsolable the wisdom of the wounded wise
His mother of the virginal devoted sea
Hides him from the clutching of humanity
Hugs him out of reach, composed and grim
Not trusting to our mercy since we slaughtered him
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may visit Pavel's website at http://www.greyowlpress.com.)