Читать книгу Bodies, The - Christopher Sindt - Страница 7

Coast Live Oak

The oak has a language in it.

A buzz, a veiling buzz

insists on the I wish.

If you wish, the oak is buzzing, not

from swarming, simply alarming,

the dogs inflecting

inside their boxes and chains.

Listen, listen through.

I have lost the I have.

I carry a card to unlock forbiddens,

a silent card that screams.

In the true heart of Sunday

the grass reforms its composite

self, screaming menace,

claimed in substrate,

the step-

child of the Chronicler.

It won’t speak grammatically.

It will impose green throughout

and lie down for the mower again.

(She is remembered

only in daydreams, never

in speech, never around the students,

never at the ballpark while the players

trot the bases before the game.)

These flat recollections of events

rarely feel like living.

And these children

bombing and standing beneath bombs.

This secretary,

these defenses

and this televised citizenry.

This oak and its technicolor translation.