Читать книгу Wilder - Claire Wahmanholm - Страница 10

AFTERIMAGE

After the explosion: the longest night.

The shock spins a dream around us which,

for our protection, refuses to end.

Outside the dream, songbirds fall from the trees

and sing their way to ash.

Inside the dream, we look out the window

at the sun that is not really a sun, which brightens

and brightens until our eyes are melted glass.

We watch our bodies flicker like lightning

against the wall. We watch them fall

and get back up again and fall

and stay down.

With every breath the dream thins like the skin

of a balloon until we can see the inside

and the outside of the dream at the same time,

the birds swooping from the trees to land

beside their own bones,

our bodies reaching down to grab our shadows

by the hands.