Читать книгу The Branch Will Not Break - James Wright A. - Страница 9

Dark cypresses— The world is uneasily happy: It will all be forgotten.

—THEODOR STORM

Mother of roots, you have not seeded

The tall ashes of loneliness

For me. Therefore,

Now I go.

If I knew the name,

Your name, all trellises of vineyards and old fire

Would quicken to shake terribly my

Earth, mother of spiralling searches, terrible

Fable of calcium, girl. I crept this afternoon

In weeds once more,

Casual, daydreaming you might not strike

Me down. Mother of window sills and journeys,

Hallower of scratching hands,

The sight of my blind man makes me want to weep.

Tiller of waves or whatever, woman or man,

Mother of roots or father of diamonds,

Look: I am nothing.

I do not even have ashes to rub into my eyes.