Love in Taganrog

I

Absinthe eyes peer through the blinds,
Light chequers her face.
Nineteen:
Nuptial number of sun and moon;
Gematria of Eve.
This is the citadel of winds,
The centuries’ kurgan,
With the shallow sea,
Silting up by the hour,
All desperate whispers
And rumours of Atlantis.
The south is strange doom,
Chaos of the senses.
The streets run straight down
And out into the steppe,
To the scorpion, death.

II

In the schoolhouse
Tourists look for the desk
Where young Chekhov
Once sat taciturn and snake-eyed,
Doodling satires on his teachers.
In the church
Pilgrims bend to kiss
The relics of Starets Pavel,
Who sanctified this simple town
By prayers and vigils and counsel,
A nobleman in peasant garb,
Who slept upon a bare bench.

III

Sensual deceptions of the enchanter,
Herself enchanted!
She has studied language
But needs no words,
And of philosophy she retains
Only the essence.
Lissom and half-naked
On the brilliant beach,
She dances in the fire
Like Nefertiti.