Читать книгу The Glass Constellation - Arthur Sze - Страница 25

The budding chrysanthemums in the jar have the color

of dried blood. Once, as she lit a new candle,

he asked, “What do you pray for?” and remembered

her earlobe between his teeth but received a gash

when she replied, “Money.” He sees the octagonal

mirror at a right angle to the fuse box, sees

the circular mirror nailed into the bark of the elm

at the front gate and wonders why the obsession

with feng shui. He recalls the photograph of a weaver

at a vertical loom kneeling at an unfinished

Two Grey Hills and wonders, is she weaving or unweaving?

The candlelight flickers at the bottom of the jar.

He sees back to the millisecond the cosmos was pure energy

and chooses to light a new candle in her absence.