Читать книгу Blood Orbits - Ger Killeen - Страница 18

2. Brumaire

The storm discovers

its voice, and the meanings

multiply gust by gust.

It all becomes

a city of one dream. Think

of sleep as a fire

whose blown white heat

brings out layer

after smudged layer

of sentences

quilled in citron inks,

book chapters, perhaps.

The lucky salvage

fistfuls of smoke, pen

them away inside

the orbital cavities

sunk in lovely skulls. So many

eyes the color of parchment

perching like pigeons

on spires, on ramparts,

so many chilling nights

of hilarious weeping.