Читать книгу The Glass Constellation - Arthur Sze - Страница 40

A visual anthropologist dies in a head-on collision

and leaves behind an Okinawan bow, arrows, whisk,

Bizen bowl, hammock, New Guinea coffee beans,

calligraphic scroll, “In motion there is stillness.”

Walking along the shifting course of the Pojoaque River,

I ponder the formation of sunspots, how they appear

to be floating islands, gigantic magnetic storms

on the surface of the sun, and, forming cooler regions,

become darker to the human eye. I ponder how

he slowed the very sharpening of a pencil

but sped up La Bajada behind a semi in the dark,

and, when the semi shifted into the right lane,

was sandwiched and smashed into an out-of-state

pickup driving down the wrong side of the highway.

I hold the blued seconds when—Einstein Cross—

he cursed, slammed on the brakes—the car crunched

and flew apart in a noise he could not hear into

a pungent white saguaro blossom opening for a single night.