Читать книгу Purity of Absence - Dave Margoshes - Страница 27

Perseid

Sage Hill, Saskatchewan, August 1993

Backs turned to artificial light,

we marched up the hill like soldiers

to battle, laughing to give

ourselves courage, our faces

lifted to the trembling sky, god’s

ruffled breast opening to enclose

us, twenty poets or more ranged along

the curving road to the exposed bones

of the radar station, its voice

stilled, its ear no longer cocked

to heaven. We would be radar,

hurling our pulse into darkness

in hopes of making contact,