Dawn over Suzdal

Clustered crows reel overhead, cawing for the night being lost
To day, when their dominion’s supplanted by god and man,
Those tolerated foes. One day they’ll attack, tearing the
Lead from brute spires which invaded the sky so long ago;
Pecking flesh like the bloodthirsty mosquitoes, (already
Taking breakfast). The sky inverts. Flamingo pinks pale to
Pallid blue. The streets of Suzdal are empty, its churches,
Monasteries and convents dedicate to the glory of
Christ. The stand-off between meadow, reed, flower and white-washed walls
As fierce, yet tranquil, as it has ever been, or shall be.