Najczęściej czytane ▸
Anne Scott Musil
form the envisioned end
grown by inner
suns and sprays
forged from seeing nerves
the naked wood or stone
resisting yielding to form
clay pressed turned into
carved wings blue flame birds
pecking our walls
to fire
the thought and blood
into a song
from someone like us
dreaming seeing
finding us
I WANT to be a carpenter.
To work all day long in clean wood,
Shaving it into little thin slivers
Which screw up into curls behind my plane ;
Pounding square, black nails into white boards.
With the claws of my hammer glistening
Like the tongue of a snake.
I want to shingle a house.
Sitting on the ridge pole in a bright breeze.
I want to put the shingles on neatly.
Taking great care that each is directly between two others.
I want my hands to have the tang of wood :
Spruce, Cedar, Cypress.
I want to draw a line on a board with a flat pencil.
And then saw along that line.
With the sweet-smelling sawdust piling up in yellow heap at my feet.