The stir of leaves, the chilly morning air <br />Were like delirium; half awake <br />Jaws clamped; the dawn beyond the Kama glared <br />Blue, as the plumage of a drake. <br /> <br />There was a clattering of crockery, <br />A yawning steward taking stock, <br />And in the depth, as high as candlesticks, <br />Within the river, glow-worms flocked. <br /> <br />They hung from streets along the waterfront, <br />A scintillating string; it chimed <br />Three times; the steward with a napkin tried <br />To scratch away some candle grime. <br /> <br />Like a grey rumour, crawling from the past, <br />A mighty epic of the reeds, <br />With ripples in the beads of street lamps, fast <br />Towards Perm the Kama ran upon a breeze. <br /> <br />Choking on waves, and almost drowning, but <br />Still swimming on beyond the boat <br />A star kept diving and resurfacing <br />An icon's shining light afloat. <br /> <br />A smell of paint mixed with the galley smells, <br />And on the Kama all along, <br />The twilight drifted, secrets gathering, <br />With not a splash it drifted on… <br /> <br />A glass in hand, your pupils narrowing <br />You watched the slips of tongue perform <br />A whirling play on words, at suppertime, <br />But were not drawn into their swarm. <br /> <br />You called your partner to old happenings, <br />To waves of days before your day, <br />To plunge in them, a final residue <br />Of the last drop, and fade away. <br /> <br />The stir of leaves in chilly morning air <br />Was like delirium; half awake <br />One yawned; the east beyond the Kama glared <br />Blue, as the plumage of a drake. <br /> <br />And, like a bloodbath now the morning came, <br />A flaming flood of oil - to drown <br />The steamer's gaslights in the stateroom and <br />The waning street lamps of the town.<br /><br />Boris Pasternak<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-steamer/
