Читать книгу Ash and Embers - James A. Zoller - Страница 13

Distinct in its improvisations, an old memory

of late afternoon sun finding its notch

in the mountains west of Laramie

pauses there for one beat, one contraction –

the long shadows of the peaks

wrap the earth in their black fingers

until all that rises above the soil

that clings by roots and foundations

that hugs dirt with its belly

sinks in the shadows as into water.

And all that doesn’t, all that transcends,

turns royal blue, or bronze, the sun itself

pulling back from across the open sky

until it too slides, suddenly, from sight –

and I let out my breath. After all that cosmic pageantry,

I see it blooming, radiant in darkening air.

And I turn toward familiar yellow windows,

warm rooms full of voices, comfort, and food.