Читать книгу The Glass Constellation - Arthur Sze - Страница 21

In the Brazos, he has never found a matsutake

under ponderosa pine, but in the dark

he whiffs it pungent white. Five votive candles

are lined along the fireplace; she has lit

a new candle even though the one burning

holds days of light. The night-blooming cereus

by the studio window is budding from rain.

In his mind, he sees the flyswatter

hanging from a nail on the lintel, a two-eyed

Daruma hanging from the rearview mirror of the car.

He hears the dipping-and-rising pitch of a siren

glide up the street and senses a shift

in starlight, the Horsehead Nebula, and, in the dark,

her eyelashes closing and opening on his skin.