On The Field of Mars

He wakens on an empty lawn
to the bells of St. Isaac’s. 

The park lamps in daylight glowing
faintly amber. 

Above the treetops,
Chagall bouquets drift by 

in the outstretched arms of angels.
On earth, rose 

petals dapple a pathway, 
and pressed in soft dirt

the shoe prints of unseen gardeners. 
On the far side of the park

a bridal-train ignites—
careening like a dragon’s tail. 

He walks into the slowness 
of the twilight 

towards the intricate canals 
to glimpse the lilting 

waters as they rinse  
the long bones of the moon.

Peter Marcus | The Vilnius Christ
Contents | Mudlark No. 55 (2014)