Читать книгу Door in the Mountain - Jean Valentine - Страница 101

3. NIGHT

I am thrown open like a child's damp hand

In sleep. You turn your back in sleep, unmanned.

How can I be so light, at the core of things?

My way was long and crooked to your hand!

What could your jeweled glove command

But flight of my stone wings?

Our honeymoon lake, ignoring the lit-up land,

Shows blank Orion where to dip his hand.