Читать книгу Out of the Ordinary - Kenneth Steven - Страница 8

I’d climb all day until I reached the roof –

a granite plateau made of moss and snow.

I’d bring no water, rather stretch down deep

through pools of clear and freezing cold to find

and fill my thirst. I’d pitch my tent and wait

until the full moon rose on midnight, turned

each shard and fleck of stone to silver-white,

as deer clicked out across the brittle rim

so not another thing might be alive

until the very edges of the sky.

I’d waken, strange, and see the newborn sun

had made my face pure amber in the dawn.