On The Steamer

The stir of leaves, the chilly morning air Were like delirium; half awake Jaws clamped; the dawn beyond the Kama glared Blue, as the plumage of a drake. There was a clattering of crockery, A yawning steward taking stock, And in the depth, as high as candlesticks, Within the river, glow-worms flocked. They hung from streets along the waterfront, A scintillating string; it chimed Three times; the steward with a napkin tried To scratch away some candle grime. Like a grey rumour, crawling from the past, A mighty epic of the reeds, With ripples in the beads of street lamps, fast Towards Perm the Kama ran upon a breeze. Choking on waves, and almost drowning, but Still swimming on beyond the boat A star kept diving and resurfacing An icon's shining light afloat. A smell of paint mixed with the galley smells, And on the Kama all along, The twilight drifted, secrets gathering, With not a splash it drifted on... A glass in hand, your pupils narrowing You watched the slips of tongue perform A whirling play on words, at suppertime, But were not drawn into their swarm. You called your partner to old happenings, To waves of days before your day, To plunge in them, a final residue Of the last drop, and fade away. The stir of leaves in chilly morning air Was like delirium; half awake One yawned; the east beyond the Kama glared Blue, as the plumage of a drake. And, like a bloodbath now the morning came, A flaming flood of oil - to drown The steamer's gaslights in the stateroom and The waning street lamps of the town.