[ANG] Tattoo
The light is like a spider.
It crawls over the water.
It crawls over the edges of the snow.
It crawls under your eyelids
And spreads its webs there–
Its two webs.
The webs of your eyes
Are fastened
To the flesh and bones of you
As to rafters or grass.
There are filaments of your eyes
On the surface of the water
And in the edges of the snow.





Podobne wiersze:
- ONCE BY THE PACIFIC The shattered water made a misty din. Great waves looked over others coming in, And thought of doing something to […]...
- Day or Night Day or night, To mock a killing bird, In Racoon’s Cabin, away, mi boys. The infant waves of the serene […]...
- The Waste Land – V. What the Thunder Said After the torchlight red on sweaty faces After the frosty silence in the gardens After the agony in stony places […]...
- Escape EscapeI seek the quietude of stones Or of great oxen, dewlap-deep In meadows of lush grass, where sleep Drifts, tufted, […]...
- CORRESPONDENCES The pillars of Nature’s temple are alive and sometimes yield perplexing messages: forests of symbols between us and the shrine […]...
- T. S. Eliot – Whispers of Immortality Webster was much possessed by death And saw the skull beneath the skin; And breastless creatures under ground Leaned backward […]...
- THE WITCH OF COOS I staid the night for shelter at a farm Behind the mountains, with a mother and son, Two old-believers. They […]...
- Canto XLIX For the seven lakes, and by no man these verses: Rain; empty river; a voyage, Fire from frozen cloud, heavy […]...
- At This Moment of Time Some who are uncertain compel me. They fear The Ace of Spades. They fear Loves offered suddenly, turning from the […]...
- AN OLD MAN’S WINTER NIGHT All out of doors looked darkly in at him Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars, That gathers on […]...
- For Annie Thank Heaven! the crisis- The danger is past, And the lingering illness Is over at last- And the fever called […]...
- The Waste Land – II. A Game of Chess The chair she sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble, where the glass Held up by standards […]...
- A BROOK IN THE CITY The firm house lingers, though averse to square With the new city street it has to wear A number in. […]...
- „Afternoon Song „ Though your wicked eyebrows call Your nature into question (Unangelic’s their suggestion, Witch whose eyes enthrall) I adore you still […]...
- The Waste Land – I. Burial of the Dead April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, strirring Dull roots with […]...
- The Canal The CanalNo dip and dart of swallows wakes the black Slumber of the canal: – a mirror dead For lack […]...
- Sonnet 24 Mine eye hath played the painter and hath stelled Thy beauty’s form in table of my heart; My body is […]...
- [ANG] Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour Light the first light of evening In which we rest and, for small reason, think The world imagined is the […]...
- T. S. Eliot – Rhapsody on a Windy Night Twelve o’clock. Along the reaches of the street Held in a lunar synthesis, Whispering lunar incantations Disolve the floors of […]...
- HARVEST-MOON:1916 HARVEST-MOON By: Josephine Preston Peabody MOON, slow rising, over the trembling sea-rim, Moon of the lifted tides and their folded […]...