Читать книгу The Glass Constellation - Arthur Sze - Страница 61

In sepia, I draw a face and hands,

a river, a hawk. When I read your letter,

and feel the silences, the slow

changes in perspective, in feeling,

I make a fresco—fading even as it’s painted.

It’s pentimento: knowing the original

sepia lines, and the changes:

the left hand in darkness, a face, effaced,

in fading light, and the right hand

pointing to a Giotto-blue river, a blue hawk,

in a moment of grace.