& in Open, Marvel. Felicia Zamora

Чтение книги онлайн.

      A Long Road Never Takes Us

      Fish poke the surface, entice

      ripples to hoard the shore, release,

      hoard again. The light shifts

      everything here. Bug spray in my hair,

      hummingbird at the picnic table, the clouds

      lulling under their transformative bellies—

      there has always and never been this—

      longing of a mind carried in a body

      here. The sun touches my shoulder, old friends

      gathering at one of the lake’s many mouths

      luring all senses; caught. The wash of waves,

      sectioned and small, so persistent: the body

      functioning without my consent.

      I spent my whole life neglecting the lap

      in my ears, half listening out of body

      of water; drowning in my own fluid-filled spaces.

      The kayaker’s need of water’s drift: my need

      to witness. Infinite rhythms we share

      and scavenge. The crows scale the Ponderosas

      tip to tip—games in birds’ eyes. I want to believe

      a long road never takes us. We are led

      with wings and tympani and slick wet

      inside and out. The canoe wears its name

      Old Town— red and passionate on the bank;

      footprints trail away and to: abandon

      casts no reflection in late summer’s glow.

      Five months out of winter’s gait

      empty will haunt this inlet again. An unknown

      tune from the boy behind me. Hums still

      as his grandfather baits his line; I might know

      how, escapes him. Silence and toil. The ever sway

      of small legs on a bench—reaching.