Anna Karenina Arrives in Moscow
She removes her hands from their chilly nest,
Pinning back the dark froth of her black hair.
She is a perfumed angel awash in oriental spice,
Excessively delicate and kindled with desire.
There is an exquisite cruelty to her beauty,
Like fragments of glass on silk chiffon —
She watches as the locomotive labors forward,
Lurching alongside the tenebrous earth.