Читать книгу Door in the Mountain - Jean Valentine - Страница 85

For a Woman Dead at Thirty

No one ever talked like that before, like your

Last white rush in the still light of your

Last, bungled fever: no one will any more.

Now we breathe easier: Love,

Released from itself, blows words of love all over,

Now your hands are crossed down there.

We wanted your whole body behind glass,

And you left just half a footprint,

Half-smiling.

All night, driving,

I wanted to know:

At the turn of light that somewhere

Must still be cock's crow

You smiled slantwise in the side mirror,

Six months dead: here's Romance: You wanted to know.

You Never, you blazing

Negative, o you wavering light in water,

Water I stir up with a stick: wavering rot,

O my sister!

even if I'd known,

All I could have said was that I know.