Читать книгу The Language of Loss - Barbara Abercrombie - Страница 25

I swear I saw you leave—

bereft of words, feet dangling

above ground as though

deprived of bone and sinew,

light shining through

your worn garments.

Never again can I angle

against you, reattach

a button to your jacket.

You are gathered elsewhere,

alone and emptied. I see that,

the way, sometimes, one can

hear the end of a word before

its completion.

—JACQUELINE DERNER TCHAKALIAN