Читать книгу Augury - Eric Pankey - Страница 11

ORACLE BONES

Beyond the word-house and sky-hung mountain,

Rain-frayed light burnishes the dusk-edged hour.

One can read the tossed owl bones as empty-handed,

Meaning not yet or try again, can cast forth into a future,

A dust-narrative of loose snow.

Each is the same burden:

Not yet and try again—the lintel flame-licked,

Sleep banked in cold ash, a room furnished with smoke.

Each word on the page burned illegible.

But no matter, you know the story by heart.