Читать книгу Doubtful Harbor - Idris Anderson - Страница 15

Sleeping and Waking

I hear cars on the highway as I fall asleep,

and a foghorn in the harbor—not the bell buoy

I remember and wish for—an electronic pulse

every fifteen or twenty seconds, and beyond,

the silent presence of the sea. Thoughts

and corrections of thought, feelings refining. What changes

at morning is light and more cars, the foghorn

a constant, and the dark massive headland.

Thinking begins in the window: a creek through marshes,

cypresses. On dry flats in the distance white birds

pick through mud for what the tide has left them.

Narrative happens, fiction, and lyric cry,

the wheeling and tilting of three vultures, fingers

on their wingtips feeling the air, and what the crabs do.