Читать книгу Дикий ирис. Аверн. Ночь, всеохватная ночь - Луиза Глик - Страница 49

What are you saying? That you want

eternal life? Are your thoughts really

as compelling as all that? Certainly

you don’t look at us, don’t listen to us,

on your skin

stain of sun, dust

of yellow buttercups: I’m talking

to you, you staring through

bars of high grass shaking

your little rattle – O

the soul! the soul! Is it enough

only to look inward? Contempt

for humanity is one thing, but why

disdain the expansive

field, your gaze rising over the clear heads

of the wild buttercups into what? Your poor

idea of heaven: absence

of change. Better than earth? How

would you know, who are neither

here nor there, standing in our midst?