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Boris Pasternak - My desk is not so wide that I might lean
Work rating: Low

My desk is not so wide that I might lean
Against the edge and reach out past the shell
Of board and glass, beyond the isthmus in
The endless miles of my scraped out farewell.

(It`s night there now.) Beyond your sultry neck.
(They went to bed.) Behind your shoulders` realm.
(Switched off the light.) At dawn, I`d give them back.
The porch would touch them with a sleepy stem.

No, not with snowflakes! With your arms! Reach far!
Oh you, ten fingers of my pain, the light
Of crystal winter stars-and every star
A sign of northbound snowbound trains being late.
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