Читать книгу Groundwork - Rustum Kozain - Страница 5

I am regret, that slow vulture

that comes too late,

that skirts the congregation,

the carcass well past use,

a wrong choice long forgotten

that passes now

as abstract of history,

malleable to anyone’s interest, or mine,

picked at, turned over and over,

until its shrivelled tendons –

dry as bone –

turn white, then fine as ash

soon taken by the wind.

That regret, the slow vulture

that came too late,

that must itself die

but lives as shadow,

a shade that flaps

inside the head’s chambers

where I leave the unsaid unsaid,

conjuring instead

the absent word

into that old, old flinch.

I am that regret.