Читать книгу The Glass Constellation - Arthur Sze - Страница 43

When you stoop to examine a lichen but find

alongside, barely exposed, several gold chanterelles,

I bend to earth in my mind: observe striations

along a white cap, absence of annulus, dig,

unearth a volva. We go on in the woods

and stumble into a cluster of teeth fungi

with dark upturned scales on their caps.

Who notices in the early morning Saturn slip

behind a waning gibbous moon? This year,

a creation spiral slowly incandesces in my hand.

I slip a white elastic band off and loosen

your hair, rub my thumb in your palm. I love

when wet sunlight splashes your face, recall

grilling shrimp near a corner of the screened porch

while rain slants across the field. In the few

weeks of a year when bloodred amanitas push

out of the earth, we push into a splendor of

yellow plumeria, orange hibiscus, bird-of-paradise.