Читать книгу Book of Dog - Cleopatra Mathis - Страница 10

Answer

When she came back from walking the dogs

he would not look at her. Fast in his place on the couch

he said whatever he said

without urgency: she was like any other distraction.

The set of his jaw, his lips,

reminded her of a prisoner, of something trapped,

or of the very old—anyone consigned to waiting

and who has chosen to obey. Meanwhile, between them

a hole had been dug, immense,

all their words thrown in there,

irretrievable. Or mangled,

torn from their real meanings or intent, just given over

to why should it matter now? And for her, now,

replaced by the plain language of the dogs,

who in a few syllables have everything to say.