Читать книгу Pacific Walkers - Nance Van Winckel - Страница 11

Because he’d brought nothing to unpack.

Because the house of this field

was so foreign, it embraced its resident.

Because the body’s bones shook free

neither twigs nor grass, while years in a row

the fir branches shook loose snow on snow.

Because his dog had quit barking.

Because the basalt was here

before the glaciers came and went.

Because the mouth can’t—however much

it seems about to try—spit out its clot of leaves.

Because he was of little faith

after the con ceased working

and the war went on, the last pencil

selling itself short on the street corner

that likewise won’t be missed

and won’t, for now, be named.

Found along the railroad tracks behind 104 South Division Street. Adult Caucasian male. Estimated Age: 60 years. Estimated height of 5 feet 8 inches. Approximate weight 145 pounds. Clothing worn: a long brown coat, a rust-colored shirt, green trousers, black shoes, and a gray hat. There was a tattoo on the right forearm that is possibly a name, but the name was unreadable. Fingerprints obtained, no match found.

—Spokane County Medical Examiner’s Records