Читать книгу The Glass Constellation - Arthur Sze - Страница 68

Cedar fires burn in my heart.

You speak of emeralds, cocaine, and henna.

You are slow rain fragrant in the eucalyptus,

in the silver leaves.

At night we look out at the Pleiades.

I think of the antelope carved in the rock

at Puyé: carved, perhaps, seven hundred

years ago. And, now, we touch the Pleiades.

For two weeks, seven hundred years,

cedar fires burn in my heart.