Волны

           ’Alone,Irockmybasins;Iammistressofmyfleetofships.Buthere,twistingthetasselsofthisbrocadedcurtaininmyhostess’swindow,Iambrokenintoseparatepieces;Iamnolongerone.WhatthenistheknowledgethatJinnyhasasshedances;theassurancethatSusanhasas,stoopingquietlybeneaththelamplight,shedrawsthewhitecottonthroughtheeyeofherneedle?Theysay,Yes;theysay,No;theybringtheirfistsdownwithabangonthetable.ButIdoubt;Itremble;Iseethewildthorntreeshakeitsshadowinthedesert.

           ’NowIwillwalk,asifIhadanendinview,acrosstheroom,tothebalconyundertheawning.Iseethesky,softlyfeatheredwithitssuddeneffulgenceofmoon.Ialsoseetherailingsofthesquare,andtwopeoplewithoutfaces,leaninglikestatuesagainstthesky.Thereis,then,aworldimmunefromchange.WhenIhavepassedthroughthisdrawing-roomflickeringwithtonguesthatcutmelikeknives,makingmestammer,makingmelie,Ifindfacesridoffeatures,robedinbeauty.Theloverscrouchundertheplanetree.Thepolicemanstandssentinelatthecorner.Amanpasses.Thereis,then,aworldimmunefromchange.ButIamnotcomposedenough,standingontiptoeonthevergeoffire,stillscorchedbythehotbreath,afraidofthedooropeningandtheleapofthetiger,tomakeevenonesentence.WhatIsayisperpetuallycontradicted.EachtimethedooropensIaminterrupted.Iamnotyettwenty-one.Iamtobebroken.Iamtobederidedallmylife.