文章基本信息

One Religious Life

Smith, Dave

When we asked they said you never came here, silent

crawler long banished from wayside bricks and tunnels,

self-preserver hied away from grotto lawns, feeder upon

whatever the high rocks keep, drinker of clouds. And yet

soles landing quiet as we climb to see where Pliny lived,

we watch the whipped ripple of your passage and the back

of your head splayed in the sun, swaying to see who we are.

Respecters of vision, we kneel, remove hats, Ray-Bans,

lower our brows to smell what peasants had trampled,

hear birdsong prayers at cliffs cool above Lake Lecco,

our minds too emptied for ambition's gaze. Below

the mile-deep blue of the ancient water flashes, boats

ticking zigzag routes with certain purpose we do not have.

There we could almost see this wild garden, cool and dark,

distant as time's beginning. But did not expect you

to be still here in our age where the gods, having lunch,

oversaw the order of fields, streets, bird flight, the crops

revealing themselves, each place learning a difficult language

of prophecy. But we are not the first to come, beer cans

testify, and your self-cancelling slough of transparent skins.

How many, we wonder, have you beheld this way, waiting?

Here you must start, cramps, sweat, the long climb down.

Yes, we will tell them, when they blink, listening, the faces

who bring great platters offish and meat and gold rice,

sweets secreted in stone cellars and earth's cool wine?

They will want markers, exact count of steps, direction.

Stones at the grape-hedge, a stream floods a small hole;

water spilled like redemption. One skin lies there to be taken.