A MORDANT LEAF

As a young pioneer
stuck for a season
near an Autumn's nest of herons
in nana's old neighborhood
thrust into a crimson leave
of reverie under the sunshine
when the Neva is always new
drinking a dark kvas
and water dipped into wine
with a slice of peasant bread
as the breeze pardons
me by the rock garden
hearing a morning lark
under the first light trees
doing a zen puzzle
and chanting an aria
of Donizetti's
"Daughter of the Regiment."