Читать книгу Contrapuntal - Christopher Kondrich - Страница 13

The melodies amounted

to gibberish, but gibberish

so close that I ascribed

words to it, so I could

take what I wanted.

The tree sang soon

the wind will blow

the leaves from me,

and the bushes rustled

remember, remember.

The tones of the day

were sustained so long

as I held my attention

up against them,

which wasn’t easy,

I wanted and wanted

to fall into the soil.