Neva
The voluptuous snow piles
dotting St Petersburg resembled
benign growths springing forth
from the concrete, clumped around
protruding and worn down buildings
which issued out tenets incessantly:
for work, a drink, or just a walk
carefully avoiding the snow piles.

-I can't imagine dying, I confessed.

Yuri shrugged.
Some of the steam from his breath
clung to his Ray-ban sunglasses.
-Well, he said slowly, imagine that
you can't imagine living. That's all.

He fell silent, and we watched the
river Neva carve out its icy path.
It was faster than I remembered.
On the other bank, another pack
of brown buildings held hundreds
teeming in its cramped innards.

-Some imagine it all in darkness,
Yuri spoke again, although more to
himself now. -But darkness would
be gone too, right?
He sounded uncertain.

We bought a new pack of menthols
and smoked it all over dinner,
joking and talking as before
but inauthentic now:
our minds had retreated far from us.