on sale), too hot to bother.Black aphids have won.
We sit with a catalogue
of latin names and a view
of the last geranium.
for Raymond Carver
Within the whiteness of its globe,
glowing whiter still, curled inward
like the spine of a child
in the womb,
the graceful arc,
an x-ray view
of the backbone of the moon.
When I described this to friends
they said
what a beautiful thing, and that much I thought I knew.
But this hot afternoon,
the summer solstice and
A New Path to the Waterfall, a cat cuts through the shade of orange day lilies, white gulls steady over us. My wine glass half full and not what I’d thought. From this comes a kind and generous answer.
The earth rolled over.
Between the sun and moon
our shadow fell.
On the next hilltop
people gathered,
upright silhouettes.
The lunar show was lengthy
so we turned
our binoculars on the sunset.
Fire engines flashed
along the waterfront.
Saturn appeared; a boy
on a wire fence swore
his naked eyes
could see its rings.
We could barely make
our way back down
the rocky trail. It was
dark and all
the familiar contours
fallen away.
Dogs ran about barking, rolling over
on the back of the still-warm earth.
From my borrowed bit of paradise, the flight paths
of dragonflies, bright aqua, and the sky,
this most excellent canopy, a route for gulls and crows to chase down through a corridor of trees toward a distance of blue sea with black islands dilating at sunset.
Our daughter’s eyes. Our son’s.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
