My desk is not so wide that I might lean <br />Against the edge and reach out past the shell <br />Of board and glass, beyond the isthmus in <br />The endless miles of my scraped out farewell. <br /> <br />(It's night there now.) Beyond your sultry neck. <br />(They went to bed.) Behind your shoulders' realm. <br />(Switched off the light.) At dawn, I'd give them back. <br />The porch would touch them with a sleepy stem. <br /> <br />No, not with snowflakes! With your arms! Reach far! <br />Oh you, ten fingers of my pain, the light <br />Of crystal winter stars-and every star <br />A sign of northbound snowbound trains being late.<br /><br />Boris Pasternak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-desk-is-not-so-wide-that-i-might-lean/
