Читать книгу Intrusive Beauty - Joseph J. Capista - Страница 12

Weep, You Prophets, in the Shadow of Heaven

Night. Prayer. The city is dangerous again.

Sounds rise skyward in countless concentricities.

Think them inverted bells yoked

To some geography of lines. Municipality.

Think them the sound of turning earth.

I unfold the map across the tabletop, take care

To feel the rise of crease beneath my palm.

First I touch those spots I’ve been,

Then touch the spots I’ll never be.

The largest bell ever made,

The Great Bell of Dhammazedi,

is lost at the bottom of a river.