Night Watchman – Poetry by Andrey Gritsman

Only rusty railroad tracks
beyond this point.
Train has gone deep
into the woods.
Wheels turn slowly, slower.
They will seize turning
without a trace.
There, in the words,
only night wind rustles.
No thunder, no sunrise,
only gray milk.
Maybe we are left
with just one night
together.

Let’s bring out
our snack to a quiet place.
Say, by the river,
or by the ravine where
something flickers
and rustles.
The night watchman will not appear
anymore as the cloud of dust
or column of fire.
Just will turn soundlessly
into a willow tree.

---

About the Poet

Andrey Gritsman is a native of Moscow, he emigrated to the United States
in 1981. He is a physician who is also a poet and essayist. He received
his MFA in poetry from Vermont College. He runs the Intercultural Poetry
Series in New York City.

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