Читать книгу By the Numbers - James Richardson - Страница 18

IV. Twilight of a God

That girl who drank from her hands

huge wastes of wine,

and his awe,

was it? So that he surfaced,

his head in a little clear spot above the music

and a good bet was

that whatever happened next

wasn’t going to happen to him.

Suddenly he wasn’t the minor deity,

coat still on, in the corner booth,

smiling benevolently upon his children,

but a guy walking out, head down,

into the cold of an outer borough,

the signs unreadable, the age of Changes over.

Though aren’t those still his angels

at the gold bar of Heaven

who lift glass trumpets to their lips?