Читать книгу Vexed - Elizabeth Poreba - Страница 15

Village Church

That bird like no bird and half a horse

hold up the doorway and march to the curve of the arch.

Someone said, Here—St. Martin,

and maybe a pelican to fill up the space.

Someone’s hands cut and hefted

a sliver of limestone,

A mason good at birds who emerged winter nights

sooty with the brazier smoke.

Someone selected colors for the scene that would be

a village story for centuries.

Then they left on a road later paved

to bring me,

fretted by the same north wind that took the paint,

then most the rest.

Who’s to tell what’s left?

What was an idea

is now just a suggestion,

stone on the way back to what it came from.