At the Great Door of Morning. Robert Hedin
the R101 still lounges
At its mooring mast,
And the Akron and Macon
Lie side by side in the shade,
Their great dusty hulls
Overgrown with weeds.
And the Hindenburg
Is not all smoke and ash,
But floats peacefully,
Barn swallows wheeling
Through its shadow,
Its huge ghostly outline
Basking like some prize
Melon in the morning sun.
The Great Liners
The age of the great liners is over now.
Titanic, Britannic: they lie
On the bottom like broken cathedrals.
But imagine how beautiful they were:
Gleaming star lobes, chandeliers,
Staircases winding into blinding light.
Five, six stories tall, they loomed
Before us like bright cities.
Andrea Doria, Lusitania:
On the last day they will rise
And take their place in the night sky.
The dead will peer from their staterooms
Into the stellar dark,
And we who call ourselves survivors
Will stare into the vast
Stories of light,
The earth made buoyant by their passing.
Fliers
Lindbergh, Dornier, Lilienthal. . .
I pronounced each one
and listened
as they rose in formation off my tongue.
Myron
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив