in Gorky Park
the sky was high
and blue, the crowds
we walked among
were nothing like
the crowds we knew
on shady gravel
paths we wandered
through a pleasure
ground whose numbered
days turned
round slow
spellbound, measured by
the stately ferris
wheel we rode
above the soviet
city and its river
into silver air
and down, to watch
our emptied seats
rising to the view
again accompanied
by the distant sound
of fiddles, the notes
of a folk dance
leaping and falling
through the still
unfolding leaves