Gleb Shulpyakov

“like a skier cuts
through snow in
the dark”

like a skier cuts through snow in the dark,
bearing in mind he remains unseen—
moving further down forest trails,
weighing heavier the further he goes;
a pine tree, as it does, creaks
grows angry in the cold night;
the skier emerges from the forest to the river
(I can see colored lights in the distance)—
descends, and the evening river of language
creaks, as vast as memory