The Crossing

Linda Pastan

I wake to the small applause
of rain, then sleep again

and somewhere between dusk
and dawn a curtain falls and rises.

My dreams carry me
on their shifting backs

as if I were the round earth
balanced on the back of the tortoise

which pulls its head in now, safe and dry
within its perfect mosaic.

Listen: it is raining;
there is applause.

I must take my bows
and cross the swaying bridge, suspended

between sleep
and what is coming next.

 

Work that appears on the KR web site is from The
Kenyon Review
and all applicable copyright restrictions apply.

Back to top ↑

Sign up for Our Email Newsletter