Читать книгу Bodies, The - Christopher Sindt - Страница 8

Hayward Marshlands

Star was darting, prying specs of light along levees. Hear me here tomorrow and the next day, get the body in place. And everything that follows: calf, nape, and small. Let the bodies be assembled along levees, let them make salt.

Past the recycling plant, past the blasted shoreline. In the broken made world, words fall between us.

Airplanes on their southern approach to Oakland, concrete wind, a grey sheet. Shy and pneumatic, the distance between shore and shore. The glance can’t fix underwater, even in the shallows. When I knew you best, you were crying straight, but usually you were darting and masking. Hear me tomorrow in the red marsh grass. We will agree, and the water will be different, slightly on the surface and slightly underneath, driftwood.