Читать книгу geode - Susan Barba - Страница 14

To surprise in silence

in midwinter

as the morning

sun singles out

and burnishes the highest

branches of a pine

°

to find inside

a golden chip of spine,

a broken bit of brackish

rattlesnake: scores of

tiny whelk, sharpened, bleached

and stillborn pencil tips

°

to cast knee-deep

in numbing surf,

scanning for birds, for boil,

feeling life in the line,

with or without a strike,

reeling