When tenderness seems tired,
the girl nestles down in me
with her she-wolf’s mask,
places a word in the hollow
of my mute being.
Impossible to be alone
in language, light of bird-laden
lemon trees.
We’re between blue & good evening,
heaving with brilliants: the mortal
glitter of the naked beach,
the glass horizon.
(It is the human that is alien.)
Even with her severed tongue
the she-wolf bathes herself
in the blue vertigo in my mouth
where the planets flicker.
The orange tree breaks into foam
& no god comes.
Who will take the madness from the trees?
The petals of dead planets broken.
What do they matter now, the deprivations.
Your voice will never recover
what was said once, so when you hold
the hemisphere & once more take up the world,
I can see myself in you as though I were sitting
in a beautiful wound. I drink from your footprint
& see: a red wolf strangled by an angel
against the immeasurable sun. This terrifying
world is not devoid of charms—
the poppy that no girl’s finger has opened,
farmhouses dark against a sublime blue,
an airplane whistling from the other world.
In the distance someone is singing. In the distance
a slow, sweet song crowded with floating animals
& small artifacts: bell jar, honeycomb, revolver.
Can we describe the world this way—
with stars & bullet holes? A presence or its contrary?
Like dizzy horses that dissolve into a dust of sheen,
I pass through them as they pass through me.
Stunned by gold, we see coming
in full gallop, at vertiginous speed, the last sun,
frail orbits, green tries, games of stars.
We are looking for a way to live
as the she-wolf of these clouds tumbles
down through stricken dawn-dark, slanting
through the quadrant seasons, deep
between vineyard rows. With her teeth
the she-wolf reaches the blonde braid of a star,
a thing of gleaming: a radiant evanescence
the blue dogs paw. Lick the dew
opening beautifully inside my brain
where everything is green like quetzal flowers
or the light in the skull of a bird
or a thousand tropics in an apple blossom—
What’s there: the endless clear country road,
a cold drink before sunset & then a bed.
We are looking for a way to live.
In the space of a half-open gold door
your body’s animals want to get out
running among these rigid hills
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.
