One snowy night I was smiled upon by Russian gods
& found myself at dinner opposite
The Moscow scholars a married couple—he only
the world’s authority on Pasternak
& she the final word on her beloved Alexandr Blok
& as we talked the evening gathered
Along the length of the white table & I could only keep
drinking the conversation in so deeply
I felt myself reaching back into the dark century & at last
I got up to leave in my black cashmere
Overcoat I’d found hanging on the back rack of a Venice
thrift store & became just another shadow
About to slide wordlessly into the night & yes it’s true
it was snowing just in upstate New York
Not Moscow or St. Petersburg nor in any ancient page
yet to anyone who saw me walking
I imagined myself as the most lyrical shadow alive
Copyright © 2016 David St. John. Used with permission of the author.