Down on the cathedrals, as from the Giralda

in a land no crueller, and over the walls

to domes & river look

from Great John’s belfry, Ivan-Veliky,

whose thirty-one are still

to hail who storms no father’s throne. Bell, book

& cradle rule, in silence. Hour by hour

from time to time with holy oil

touch yet the forehead eyelids nose

lips ears breast fists of Kruschev, for Christ knows

poor evil Kadar, cut, is back in power.

Boils his throne. The moujik kneels & votes.

South & east of the others’ tombs—where? why,

in Arkhanghelsky, on the Baptist’s side,

lies Brother Jonas (fomrerly Ivan the Terrible),

where Brother Josef came with his friend’s heart

out of such guilt it proved all bearable,

and Brother Nikita will come and lie.