Читать книгу The Lease - Mathew Henderson - Страница 7

Squats three days at a time in white-brown mud

that sticks and sucks, like a mouth, against

everything it touches. The long battle,

the bit-by-bit of urging steel to the centre

of the earth. You dream of sinking, past

the slow riot of oil, sand and stone,

to the bottom of the prairie shield.

Rig out. The pylons packed, extinguishers

strapped, the guy wires of the stack, plucked,

swing loose again against the sky. Everything ends,

briefly, and the iron world moves on.

Only the tire ruts are left, six inches

deep, wet with water and an oil sheen,

and even these are eaten over by wheat

and flax and mustard seeds.

No mark survives this place: you too will yield

to unmemory. Give everything you are

in three-day pieces. Watch the gypsy iron

move, follow its commands.

Tend the rusted steel like a shepherd.