AN UNDERGROUND MAN

Taking a break
after miles of detours
without a sound
except for tiny birds
who awake skyward
near the police station
he yawns at nature's riddles
wishing for an omen
or even an amen
poorly dressed
in heavy wooly Russian garb
holding onto Dostoyevsky's
carbon sheets
onto his right arm
walking forward
on the Moscow streets
with an icon of St. Stephen
and bouquets of tears
at his own regrets
full of tears.