Читать книгу School - Jen Currin - Страница 13

This is where our narratives diverge.

You went down that dry riverbed.

I climbed to the mountains.

Some say monks hide there

and that their clothes are ugly.

I found the spring and washed my face, feet and hands.

A deer with the eyes of my kindest sister

stopped near me.

All my advice fell like brittle leaves in a dying forest.

I had never felt less alone.

The green glow of ferns and nettle, water droplets on moss.

I do not wish to keep anyone

from their scheduled visit to the underworld.

So please, friend, continue on without me.