the vast Russian steppes

while the snows fell heavily upon the ground,

the eleventh moon
turned to face Matisse
in his famous studio near Paris.

and the flower seller walked away with his basket full,
his scarlet eyes silent at the end of the day.

a skinny body stared numbly out to sea,
to watch the moon's reflection on the turbulent waters;
her angular arms clasped in the fifth position above her head.

the northern light, a thunderous gray,
showed no glimmer of mercy
when the ballet season ended in a pillar of chalk
carved from the cliffs of Pourville.

in a steady rush of solitude the solitary person
withered and fell on the vast Russian steppes:
the moon slowly rose like a bird in its' cage,
puzzled to discover there was no easy way to fly.