Читать книгу geode - Susan Barba - Страница 17

Have you spent enough time in the hammered gold

to know the stillness of rocks is a ruse?

Rock echoes your consternation or relief

making the emptiness replete.

But what relief is flattery? Echo’s an oread, a mountain nymph,

slip of a girl unseen.

In a side-canyon water winds through petrified waves.

Time eats its walls.