My Santiago

Sitting here

The Simonov cuts a swathe through the vast Moscow canal, Built by Stalin’s ‘quota system’ of political prisoners. As it inches through intricate locks towards the Volga, The view is strangely at odds with the brutality of its creation. On the banks, I see Daschas nestled into the Birchwood forest,

Cloud - speckled sky, And tranquil waters,

As I sit on the side deck, On this cool autumn day, Experiencing Russia, So vast, So unknown, Yet by increments, day by day, Peeling back the layers, Unravelling its beauty to all who would see it.