Читать книгу Дикий ирис. Аверн. Ночь, всеохватная ночь - Луиза Глик - Страница 99

My great happiness

is the sound your voice makes

calling to me even in despair; my sorrow

that I cannot answer you

in speech you accept as mine.

You have no faith in your own language.

So you invest

authority in signs

you cannot read with any accuracy.

And yet your voice reaches me always.

And I answer constantly,

my anger passing

as winter passes. My tenderness

should be apparent to you

in the breeze of the summer evening

and in the words that become

your own response.