Читать книгу Spells - Annie Finch - Страница 18
ОглавлениеBEACH OF EDGES
A drift of snow edges a new drift of sand
As edges grow deeper. It’s March, month of edges.
Wet rocks yield to pebbles like opening hands.
The glisten of rockweed trails, splutters, and bends,
And sparkles of rivulets bounce down in ledges.
A drift of snow edges a new drift of sand;
It’s March, month of edges, and I’m left to stand
Alone outside time as new light pulls and nudges
Wet rocks. Yield to pebbles like opening hands,
Light; pull me from winter. How have I planned
For light that’s not winter, for live light that fledges
A drift of snow, edges a new drift of sand
Beyond my last sight, and waves me like a wand
Out back over the surges of these rocking sedges?
Wet rocks yield to pebbles like opening hands;
I want to go back to him, as to the land;
light, carry me over from the wild old grudges.
A drift of snow edges a new drift of sand;
Wet rocks yield to pebbles like opening hands.
