Читать книгу Trace - Eric Pankey - Страница 18

Works and Days

At the fray of memory

A drop of sweat down her breast veers and misses her nipple

Chaos, it’s said, was born first

Riverside willow leaf turns, turns, caught in an eddy

Instant yet everlasting

Iron oxide, smeared ochres, charcoal gestures: flanks, tusks, hooves

Cuckoo song among the oaks

Orion at the horizon; linens freeze on a line

By noon shade evaporates

At the fray, at the fray of memory