And eyes.
In the igloo
The poem gathers
The dark hair of the beloved.
All the poems of the world
Have been gathering the beloved’s
Body against your loss.
Read in the Book. Open
Your eyes and your heart;
Open your voice.
The beloved
Is there and was never lost.
And never understood a word.
Scrawled in its margins.
Wrote my own versions
Of what I read there,
But never got a thing right.
Didn’t understand that each
Poem was a magic spell.
Was a voice,
And under that voice: an echo
That was the spell.
As if each poem clearly spoke
The word “Death”
And the echo said “Life.”
Echo roiling the poem’s surface
As the angel was said
To trouble the waters
Of Bethesda’s pool in Jerusalem
So that the first person
To enter the water
After the angel had been there
Was healed.
Take it lightly. Know how
It gnaws your bones hollow
So you’re afraid to stand up,
Afraid the lightest wind will
Knock you over, blow you away.
But maybe the wind is supposed
To blow right through you;
Maybe you’re a tree in winter
And your poem translates
That cold wind into song.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
