Читать книгу Nature Speaks - Дебора Кеннеди - Страница 26

Sign Language

Every word made clear by her darting

hands, wiry fingers fan out, palms turn up

pausing for a beat, then with a little flutter,

as if to say, “Really, what can you expect?”

Curling, rolling, tracing splines, pulling meaning

from lucid air. Her fingers arch, slowly curve back

like the liquid neck of a startled heron. Both hands

fly up, reaching higher. Suddenly silent, they drop

heavily to her thighs and quietly curl together,

two sleeping doves, still in the dusty, dim cote.

She leans forward listening, one hand leaps up

stabbing the air, her fingers taut, raptor stiff,

the sign language of bone and blood,

the cry of a hunting falcon’s wing.