Читать книгу Purity of Absence - Dave Margoshes - Страница 12
ОглавлениеUnder a tree, I sit
growing roots, listening
to the immense noise, opening
my eyes to light
without end.
The sun splinters, a narrow
man comes down
the road, stops
to listen, then lopes
the dusty way he’s come.
The road is empty, the sky
a hole letting in
the promised menace.
The iron ring of his foot
on the cobblestones, a circle
in a pool of water. I wanted to be a good man he cried as he fell but only the air heard, the thin cruel air. So quickly then this eggshell shatters. But what shall we do with this dark?
