Читать книгу Cutting Room - Sarah Pinder - Страница 9

welcome arrow, stippled like split bone,

the moon’s nothing to pray over, a noun in the ear of the watchers

a dog bolts through in arc and amble,

clots of people weigh worry

wet nose against the back of a hand, a cool comma,

all moons are comparisons, possible constants, unflinching

this begins, quiet, craning.