Читать книгу The Glass Constellation - Arthur Sze - Страница 35

Climbing out of an arroyo, I reach my hand

into a small cactus and see the taro

plant in the backyard unfurl a new leaf.

A great horned owl perched on a ledge

twitches its ears when we approach along

the bottom of a ravine. I spot a hummingbird

at the hollyhock, pear blossoms swirling

on gravel near the gate. When you light

a candle, the flickering shadow on the wall

has the shape of an eagle feather.

In the morning when you do a yoga stretch,

I feel the rhythm with which you sway—

fingertip to fingertip, mouth to mouth,

the shifting course of the Pojoaque River,

white apache plume blossoming to silvery puff.

And as an astronomer catches light echoes

from a nova, when I pull spines out of my palm,

I know this instant moment which is ours.