Читать книгу Habitation of Wonder - Abigail Carroll - Страница 6

We read the Word

spoke forth creation, but

I’m not so sure it wasn’t

sung into being,

not exactly hummed,

though insects might

have appeared with hardly

an opening of the mouth.

No doubt, the sun

was spun from delicate,

yet forceful arias—thus

the operatic nature of light.

Out of a bass-line, deep

blue tones—the kind you

rarely hear until they’ve

faded into air—whales.

Ostriches sprang from

strange improvisations.

Elephants are echoes

of ancient, sacred chants.

I imagine larkspur, phlox,

and clover are the progeny

of nursery rhymes repeated

quaintly, readily, musingly,

as if sheer gratuity

were their purpose, as if

they were made for nothing

more than loveliness. Stars,

in their totality, emerged

not from a tune, but rather

a soft and knowing sound:

a buzz, a kind of celestial

purr, a note so perfectly

content with itself that

it sparked, became what

it dreamed: a universe.