Читать книгу Stranger - Adam Clay - Страница 19

Upper Peninsula

A bronze sky at first seemed the best way

to describe it,

but later the description

fell away into something

more vapid or mundane

than one might expect,

although the sky did not.

Your feet doubted the land.

Even a lawn chair

falling from the heavens

would have made more sense,

and even falling asleep while standing upright

felt more natural than this.

What we are is cut into the ground and continues

to burrow absentmindedly

into the source of our birth.

A shipwreck for every misguided

thought. A sandstone skipped across the water

ceases to dwell within

its boundary of definition. Do I

cast judgment on a song sputtering

out if I’ve never heard it before,

if I can’t carry a tune in my head

or a fish on a line?

The sun parts the sky in a way

up here I never imagined

or learned it could. What’s left

of the sky curves back around the lake

and a single spark from across the bay

stands in as something greater

than itself, I’m sure, but my

mind cannot trap