Читать книгу The Book of Unknowing - David S. Herrstrom - Страница 5

To Nicodemus

Nico the scholar loved the night

its small hours moving across his forehead like the bowing of a cello.

Some nights, bent over ancient texts,

Nico felt a stone in his right hand

and in his left its heft,

knew his mind to be a leaf in a wind.

He sat inside and outside himself like laughter.

He kept a lump of amber on his desk, wanting the moon within reach.

(Nico, great insomniac

let me walk with you for I too

am kept awake by curiosity.)

Interpreter Nico loved the rich inexhaustible ink of night.