Читать книгу Eventually One Dreams the Real Thing - Marianne Boruch - Страница 13

Aubade with Grass, Some Trees

Water on the ground and whatever will stay put

but I can’t see that well. Or far.

What for, the deer out there. Not now. Not

with the rain. But two of them yesterday.

Even here, the sound of cars and their distance.

No song is complete without

some straying into the minor key but

what does such happiness mean. And who said

why first. And to whom, looking sideways

at what. Grass. Some trees. The furious shrill

of the legendary largest woodpecker

you almost never spot. I don’t listen. I’m like

before I was. A stone. Or fish.

If a fish, how do I know the life in the pond

any different than the life in me. Mindlessness

is sweet. Oh this in-spite-of in the morning.

Because they forget. In captivity, round and round

the fishbowl radiant, willing.