Читать книгу The Village on Horseback - Jesse Ball - Страница 44

A ninety-five-year-old pilgrim is at the door.

She’s knocked three times. Each time

she knocks, a knuckle in her hand breaks.

She wants a cup of water.

The desert here is wide.

In fact, this is the widest point.

Sometimes I like to go up to the roof

and ring our huge bell.

The sound floats in the air

like some hundred ships

all tossed on a single wave.

It moves out across the sand,

and nothing stops it. I think it can

go forever. I think of places the sound

goes. Cottages, little green

hedgerows, gardeners looking up.

“Oh, it’s time for lunch,” they must say,

“there’s the bell.”