Читать книгу Дикий ирис. Аверн. Ночь, всеохватная ночь - Луиза Глик - Страница 59

I wanted to stay as I was,

still as the world is never still,

not in midsummer but the moment before

the first flower forms, the moment

nothing is as yet past —

not midsummer, the intoxicant,

but late spring, the grass not yet

high at the edge of the garden, the early tulips

beginning to open —

like a child hovering in a doorway, watching the others,

the ones who go first,

a tense cluster of limbs, alert to

the failures of others, the public falterings

with a child’s fierce confidence of imminent power

preparing to defeat

these weaknesses, to succumb

to nothing, the time directly

prior to flowering, the epoch of mastery

before the appearance of the gift,

before possession.