Читать книгу Selfi americano - Curtis Bauer - Страница 21

There is a light I love, I loved

in the house where I was born.

Inside the door the foyer filled

with slanted light shimmering

cascades of particulates pooled

there, then burst, billowed,

and flowed through as if

having somewhere to go,

to fall a thousand miles more

or get out of town as I would

later, though I didn’t know why

then bathing there in the churning

dust that tossed and stirred, stewed

by that light and heat into a form

like a body’s embrace unfolding

upon me, holding me, emboldened

child inside the vigor of that space,

pulling out some courage to step

into that seething and dance

in the hands of dust. My hands

wove through it, cupped and

touched it. We embraced. I learned

what part of light I can become

floating, twirling, how

to step above the floor,

then out, then further out.