Читать книгу The Glass Constellation - Arthur Sze - Страница 65

A blind girl

stares at me,

then types out ten lines

in braille.

The air has a scent

of sandalwood and

arsenic; a night-blooming cereus

blooms on a dark path.

I look at the

short and long flow

of the lines:

and guess at garlic,

the sun, a silver desert rain,

and palms.

Or is it simply

about hands, a river of light,

the ear of a snail,

or rags?

And, stunned, I feel

the nerves of my hand flashing

in the dark, feel

the world as black

lightning.