The Fourfold
you who dwell in the land.
–Ezekiel 7:7
Automobiles are flowing like droplets down the string of the highway,
then all of a sudden they’re absorbed into housing estates and
courtyards,
the reinforced concrete gardens of hypermarkets. Water
does not wash anything clean, it insistently drums on the brow, seeking
the plumb-line; droplet asking droplet what’s the way.
I turn onto my other side, here naked trees
flex themselves, as if trying to use their youthful branches
to prop up the sky’s support wall, on which weevils
are skillfully pretending to be seagulls and a damp mark is just as
remarkably spreading to form some artificial rose.
I get up, wake up, switch on the TV; the world goes
back to the beginning.
Tweet
About the Author
Tadeusz Dąbrowski is author of is author of five volumes of poetry. His first collection in English, Black Square, is forthcoming.
Related Articles
Tadeusz Dąbrowski,
The Meadow
Tadeusz Dąbrowski,
[It's not true that the world is an unending return]
Keep in touch with Boston Review
