Illumination in St. Petersburg

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A/N: This poem is based off the painting of the same name (in Russian) by Fyodor Vasilyev that I've attached above.

They were like the sea,
ebbing and flowing
in an expanse. Unbreakable.
Not an individual - a mass -
each of them weaved into
and became this sea.
As far as the eye could see...
With the unbreakable glass ceiling towering above.

The doleful light fleshed out their fingers.
Reflections danced under their feet.
They separated in the night,
forgetting the presence of the man
at their shoulder. Who was
this man? Who were they?
Suspicion stained this sea,
the ceiling muddied by the smoke.

Ghostly figures clung to loose sleeves,
wrapped around starving limbs.
A mother shushed their child in
the silent hum of living, breathing, absent sea.
A man lit his pipe, clenched between a
rotting rictus. A young girl followed an older night,
blinded by a handful of silver coins.
The stench clung to them - a shadow - the only memory in the sea.

A river ran through it, the light shifting
between harsh and soft. A bawdy joke
made a tavern quake with the sound of laughter.
They met in this sea and parted like the tide.
A few glanced above them
only to lower their heads
with haste.
Who did they think
they were? They were evaporating...
Gone.

It tapered down to a cold few.
The wind kissed their skin through
bundled layers and stung uncovered napes.
Flurries blanketed worn hats
and bare heads, painting the sea
white. When they would arrive,
They would forget any face distinguishable;
They would shake off the layer that clung to them;
They would occupy semi-warm shelters;
And, once again,
They would wander out,
covering grey streets
with an indivisible sea.

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