at dusk – Edward Estlin Cummings

from No Thanks

at dusk
just when
the Light is filled with birds
i begin

to climb the best hill,
driven by black wine
a village does not move behind
my eye

the windmills are
their flattened arms
complain steadily against the west

one Clock dimly cries
nine, i stride among the vines
(my heart pursues
against the little moon

a here and there lark
who; rises,
and; droops
as if upon a thread invisible)

A graveyard dreams through its
cluttered and brittle emblems, or
a field (and i pause among
the smell of minute mown lives) oh
my spirit you

and mightily fatally

i remark how through deep lifted
fields Oxen distinctly move, a
yellowandbluish cat (perched why
Curvingly at this) window; yes

women sturdily meander in my
mind, woven by always upon
crickets within me whisper

whose erect blood finally
trembles, emerging to perceive
buried in cliff

at the Ending of this road,
a candle in a shrine:
its puniest flame persists
shaken by the sea

Leggi in Italiano

Exit mobile version