quarta-feira, 31 de janeiro de 2018

Smaller than the Radius of the Planet - J. H. Prynne

There is a patch like ice in the sky this
evening & the wind tacks about, we are
both stopped/fingered by it. I lay out my 
unrest like white lines on the slope, so that  
something out of broken sleep will land
there. Look up, a vale of sorrow opened by 
eyes anywhere above us, the child spread out
in his memory of darkness. And so, then, the  
magnetic influence of Venus sweeps its
shiver into the heart/brain or hypothalamus,  
we are still here, I look steadily at nothing.  
"The gradient of the decrease may be de- 
termined by the spread in intrinsic lumin
- osities" —the ethereal language of love in  
brilliant suspense between us and the 
hesitant arc. Yet I need it too and keep  one
hand in my pocket & one in yours, 
waiting for the first snow of the year.

J. H. Prynne. The White Stones, 2016.

Sem comentários:

Enviar um comentário