St Petersburg

by Rachel Burns

A murder of crows, caw, caw, caw
startle from the trees, a bad ilk
the sky pale, blue, raw.

A sad black and white score
darkened rooms, faces pale as milk
the closed mortuary door.

The coffins lined with silk
the empty square, down with the Tsar
we carry our dead on catafalques,
           the sky pale, blue, raw.