The
Thought Fox
I
imagine this midnight moment's forest:
Something
else is alive
Besides
the clock's loneliness
And
this blank page where my fingers move.
Through
the window I see no star:
Something
more near
Though
deeper within darkness
Is
entering the loneliness:
Cold,
delicately as the dark snow,
A
fox's nose touches twig, leaf;
Two
eyes serve a movement, that now
And
again now, and now, and now
Sets
neat prints into the snow
Between
trees, and warily a lame
Shadow
lags by stump and in hollow
Of
a body that is bold to come
Across
clearings, an eye,
A
widening deepening greenness,
Brilliantly,
concentratedly,
Coming
about its own business
Till,
with sudden sharp hot stink of fox
It
enters the dark hole of the head.
The
window is starless still; the clock ticks,
The
page is printed.
Porównanie pomysłu do skradającego się lisa uważam za wyjątkowo zgrabne i zwyczajnie... przeurocze. Hughes podbił tym moje serce.
Cześć Łowczyni, dobrze Cię znowu czytać :).
OdpowiedzUsuńSporo wody w Wiśle upłynęło, ale wróciłam i planuję zostać na dłużej, a przynajmniej na ile mi matura pozwoli:)
OdpowiedzUsuń