Читать книгу Bivouac - Kwame Dawes - Страница 5

This is nothing:

tree hill gravel, tactile and tragic,

the pattern of waterscape;

noting these primary tints

I mutter nothing

but the bare sotto voce poem,

like any nude he made

limb or feeling heart.

In this bright or yellow sky

or blue (the symbol is arider than water)

the familiar gesture of the rose

is parched with dry-land laughter but cannot die:

over and under this composed waterscape

delicate crows only are sensuous.

I have this all,

a monotonous bamboo-flute or the immodest jasmine.

“Without Dogma” by Neville Dawes