Читать книгу Catastrophic - Humphrey Hartney - Страница 15

We come back to earth

The dogs take pats from everyone

Job done.

But then we see

Just underneath all those

flooding terraces

All that spilling water

A great glove of smoke –

The massive hand of God

A sky-long wad of white cloth

Catching every drop.

(just like a coal mine needing its megalitres

or a foreign bottling plant and its gigalitres

or a cotton farm – most like a cotton farm

that Hand

a great ball of cotton wool

soaking up every stream)

So that not even the smell of rain

Makes it back to earth - and in our dreams

We try to cry at this massive tragedy

- but even our early-morning tears

Are sopped up by that massive Hand

And we sleep on

dry eyes and

in failure and in shame

No rain touched the earth tonight.

and our dreams were nightmares.

Nothing had been done.

The flames around us danced in unsleeping joy

knowing they could

now dance on forever.