Here A Riddle Has Drawn A Strange Nailmark
Here a riddle has drawn a strange nailmark. To sleep now!
by Boris Pasternak
I'll reread, understand with the light of the sun,
But until I am wakened, to touch the beloved
As I do has been given to none.
How I touched you! So touched were you even by the copper
Of my lips, as an audience is touched by a play,
And the kiss was like summer; it lingered and lingered,
Only later the thunderstorm came.
And I drank in long draughts, like the birds, half-unconscious.
The stars trickle slowly through the throat to the crop,
While the nightingales roll up their eyes in a shudder
From the firmament draining the night drop by drop.