by Pavel Chichikov
Out of the depths
Profoundest Russia
January of the light-poor folk
Blessed by the Father
To you our Mother
Russia of the Blessed Virgin
Of Tikhvin
Of Kazan
God’s mother of Moscow of the deepest place
Gleaming, slipping loneliness
Abyss where the fearful go
In the street where you fall
Where they strike you
And where they lift you
I called on you
Help me Mother
You answered
In the church where I wept at your knees
On the wounding street
In the hellish tunnels
At your shelter of Tikhvin
Near your silver mantle
Your soft-gleaming veil
Warmed by candles
Where you held your Baby
Sent by the Father
Mother
Christ bearer
Listener
Hear my voice and help me
Soft eyed one
Loving one
Protector
God’s mother
Who warms us
You were there
(See Pavel's new book, Mysteries and Stations, here.)
