Читать книгу Storm Toward Morning - Malachi Black - Страница 14

Ode to the Sun

You repeat yourself like no one

I know. Steadily somewhere,

you roll unnoticeably forward

even now, showing. Your finger

lifts the flowers and their faces

by the chin, but you will leave them

behind like blown-out beach

umbrellas. You will always reach

and extend. You will always

try to keep me to yourself on Monday

mornings: You will glare and I will go,

but you don’t care and you can’t know.

I will look at you too long and cry.

I will wonder where you’ve gone, at night.

I’ll fall asleep and dream: an acorn.

You are nothing but a breast, round

behind a blouse of clouds built to be

unbuttoned. You love: You share

yourself and you are always naked:

You love: You show us how to take

our places: You love: You cover our faces