Читать книгу Repetition Nineteen - Mónica de la Torre - Страница 19

One. One silence, one flame.

A sip of coffee before it tasted bitter.

A prick inside a hollow.

Two roads yet one path

and eyes closed during a nap.

How many mirrors are two.

Evening falls and two moons appear,

Two offshoots that are already three.

Three is peace and the promise

of a friend and a foe,

three open books, three grains of salt.

Four times I said your name, to no avail.

Four is equal to two.

And if five times you ask yourself,

What am I doing here? set your bed on fire,

let it burn, and leave.