Читать книгу The Infinitesimals - Laura Kasischke - Страница 18
ОглавлениеThat Men Should Kill One Another
It is the bread that will not be baked.
The bread that rises and continues to rise.
It is the recital performed every night—
little girl
in a snowstorm
in an empty auditorium. Not the soldier
on a horse, bearing
a skull on a pole. No, it is the way
I call your name, many
years too late, just
your dark omnipresence now as it stretches
from one edge of the everything to the next.
