Poem for Riccardo
It's happened enough
that I know to be afraid:
when I leave this place
only sketches and reappearing odors
will interrupt the immediate reduction of detail.
To you, I will not do justice.
Will I remember your quiet hands?
Two still rows of chimes
speaking to the dogs
tracing me with a surveyor's precision
lying idle, ordered, palm-up, upon your thighs.
I might remember the cashmere fineness of your hair,
how often I look and find you moved to tears,
that you cannot bear the heat of a lukewarm bath
the acidity of a tomato
a glass of wine undiluted,
that you teared when I joked, "How I hate you!"
roared fear when I leaned too far over a bridge.
Now I can feel the cool skin next to your closed eye,
pulling against my lips---
but in one month, will I?
Will I still know the calm depth of your shoulders,
the slicing of ropes within when you swaddled me
undone
in your silent ape arms?
Procvičte nejen pravopisná cvičení, diktáty, ale i kvízy, časté chyby, doplňovačky a vše, co pomůže ve výuce Vám nebo dětem
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