Hard City

by Pavel Chichikov

Seven workers fallen on hard times –

If the week were burning

Which way would the wind blow?

Burn the seven bodies on a pyre

Made of kindling minutes, hours

In their variable bulk

Let the widow-seconds throw

Their frail remains

On the blaze of time

Acrid smoke blows north –

Drifts toward faint Polaris

In long sea-winds

The hard city of time

Columns green, imperial

Burns like jade, a black lustrous flame

(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may also visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.)