Still Life by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Still Life

Page 39

Through the eye of the needle

Kiss of the twilight

I have felt it, baby

Taking the last light

And to melt it, baby

Somebody is talking to me

Through the eye of the needle

Sharp edged summertime

Sits on my shoulder

Cutting deeply into my skin

I’ve been ending for so long

I can’t remember what it’s like to begin

I’ve been wasting my time

I’ve been trying to climb

Through the eye of the needle.

Improvised indecipherable chants

Tending toward a scream

Written by Michael Zager and Aram Schefrin

The castle itself, with its neo-Gothic turrets and theatrical moat, becomes less a monument than a stage for their improvisation. They don't follow the prescribed path. Instead, they veer off into the Deer Park, where the manicured symmetry gives way to something more feral than an indie Goodreads reviewer; hedges that seem to whisper, gravel that crunches like commentary.

Susie, still half dreaming, treats the Roman Garden like a ritual site, tracing the outlines of statues with her fingers as if decoding a forgotten alphabet. Finn, meanwhile, finds a bench beneath a copper beech and declares it a throne of refusal. They speak in fragments; half remembered lines from childhood plays,