Peter Balakian: In the Caucasus

Into a basalt cavern

I wandered, where the moon 

slid like a water snake

in white skin 

through the gullies

to the blonde and furry wheat.

A grubby man,

I dug toward the damp smell 

of a water channel–

a nation's basement,

a root cellar,

and found a shard 

of khachkar

its intricate lacework 

a whole system of streams 

wound into stone–

grapes and pomegranates 

pomegranates and grapes

pulpy in my hands.

Palmettos leaves fanned

my palms; a rising moon 

in the moss-grown stone 

mirrored the light

where the winged griffins --

those talismen of blood

flew into the arms of the cross.

Down a gulley,

like a volute,

I found a way 

to the dry clay 

of a border between two worlds --

Pegasus flew out

of the tufa walls

into the white shroud of Ararat

and the ringing bells 

slid into the scree.

Raft, Volume 4, 1990.