Читать книгу Word Simple - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 19

the first cold days in the early

morning hinting winter, leaves

twirling around in the chilly air,

the sun now a cool distant friend,

a walk in the woods not knowing

the names of trees, down a winding

path where there are no questions, to

places never seen, birds that will show

up tonight to rest on the city lampposts

performing gracious flight and wordless

songs. a bark far off on the other side of

the woods for no reason breaks the silence

like the blades of grass pushing up without

warning on cracked sidewalks. the time

of day no longer matters, the name of things

a reminisced convention, inhaling with each

step the scent of the air, reaching the banks

of the slow river, resting with no regret in

the company of the tide that gently scratches

its back on the shore—a lumbering truth waits

here!