Читать книгу The Glass Constellation - Arthur Sze - Страница 17

The first leaves on an apricot, a new moon,

a woman in a wheelchair smoking in a patio,

a CAT scan of a brain: these are the beginnings

of strings. The pattern of black and white

stones never repeats. Each loss is particular:

a gold ginkgo leaf lying on the sidewalk,

the room where a girl sobs. A man returns

to China, invites an old friend to dinner,

and later hears his friend felt he missed

the moment he was asked a favor and was

humiliated; he tells others never to see

this person from America, “He’s cunning, ruthless.”

The struggle to sense a nuance of emotion

resembles a chrysalis hanging from a twig.

The upstairs bedroom filling with the aroma

of lilies becomes a breathing diamond.

Can a chrysalis pump milkweed toxins into wings?

In the mind, what never repeats? Or repeats endlessly?