Читать книгу Wolf Centos - Simone Muench - Страница 9

Outside the new world winters in grand dark

like a young wolf in its blood leaping

to snap the flower-flake as my shadow

falls broken-legged down stony precipices,

snowflakes falling more blue than subways,

than astronomy—the body-clocks are stopped

all over town. Your finger drawing my mouth.

Sans teeth, sans eyes.

When the mouth dies, who misses you?

The kill of the wolf is the meat of the wolf:

he may do what he will.

Inside the wolf’s tongue, the doe’s tears.

It was wet & we licked the hollow

where a hare could hide.