Here you will find the Poem My desk is not so wide that I might lean of poet Boris Pasternak
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.
