Suddenly the streets are full of people
walking hatless, unbuttoning their coats,
smiling at total strangers - here, in Moscow!
This weather has changed everything. The air is balmy,
traffic’s stopped dead. People get out of their cars, peer around, shrug,
go over to the kiosk, buy cigarettes, ask for a light,
wander off...and that’s how traffic jams get started.
Kamergersky is bathed in light. Everything sings:
the narrow street and high buildings, the facade of the department store,
the dog sleeping on the pavement, the fat Armenian
smoking a cigarette, the blonde in her white lab coat and lace brassiere,
the tall boy slipping between the cars. The sky is rosy pink and eggshell blue.
And look: that narrow white spire? it’s the television tower at Ostankino,
the one they stormed in ’91.
Spring has come at last. And on Red Square, the crowd is out in force:
pushing between the red-crowned towers, streaming through the gates,
swirling across the cobblestones before old Lenin’s tomb.
Everyone looks fresh-scrubbed, newborn, slightly shocked
after a winter spent underground, to be out in the air like this.
The restless spirit’s got them, they move together then apart,
on the square, in the alleys, past the gilded little church,
each one hand in hand with fate, walking quickly now...