Peter lifted a great city from out of a swamp,
like a big, drunken, bearded midwife,
with ambition his doula.
Black butterflies rise,
holding up the gaudy double eagle,
and they are the carriers of the souls of the thousands
who died to build St. Petersburg.
Everything had to be brought in--
breath of lumber, breath of bricks
to bring the cry of creation to this muddy shore.
Now, Tatiana stands by the window.
Beyond her, the majesty of architecture--
the bold, solid embodiment of a giant's vision.
Tatiana wears very little.
She is curved, like the earth.
She doesn't know her Czars from her motorcars,
but she is well aware
that when she stands there like this,
the magnificence outside the window may as well not even be there.
It melts, the admirer's eye already full with better design.
She conquers the way the Moon does,
with desire and insanity,
and with only as much blood as may be needed
in order to get the job done.
for Isadora's challenge at Real Toads.
I have no idea if the photograph is actually of a place in St Petersburg, but it looks as if it could be.