Читать книгу The Glass Constellation - Arthur Sze - Страница 78

The blue-black mountains are etched

with ice. I drive south in fading light.

The lights of my car set out before

me, and disappear before my very eyes.

And as I approach thirty, the distances

are shorter than I guess? The mind

travels at the speed of light. But for

how many people are the passions

ironwood, ironwood that hardens and hardens?

Take the ex-musician, insurance salesman,

who sells himself a policy on his own life;

or the magician who has himself locked

in a chest and thrown into the sea,

only to discover he is caught in his own chains.

I want a passion that grows and grows.

To feel, think, act, and be defined

by your actions, thoughts, feelings.

As in the bones of a hand in an X-ray,

I want the clear white light to work

against the fuzzy blurred edges of the darkness:

even if the darkness precedes and follows

us, we have a chance, briefly, to shine.