Читать книгу A Perhaps Line - Gary D. Swaim - Страница 18

They should be in a cast.

Perhaps they are. Morphine pouring

into this body disturbs everything

I think I know. The only certainty

du jour is that all bodily extensions

are blanched Bryce Canyon stones,

as my mind runs, pressing through

labyrinths of unknowing, finding Milton

here, Rilke there, Dante’s Hell everywhere.

“Could I have some water?”

“We’ll have to raise your head, a 45 degree

angle, at least.

“I’m a runner. Just pass the water to me

as I run by. I’ve done it many times.”

“No. You’ve forgotten where you are. I must

lift your head. I’ll hold the cup. Drink slowly.”

“Never mind. I can’t waste time. I still have

eight miles to go.”

And I run. I’m breathing hard. Beauties of high

desert reds now lash my eyes, and it’s Kierkegaard

I hear speaking of the individual alone before God.

I am alone as I run in my full body cast.