שיר
Asia by Raymond Carver It´s good to live near the water. Ships pass so close to land a man could reach out and break a branch from one of the willow trees that grow here. Horses run wild down by the water, along the beach. If the men on board wanted, they could fashion a lariat and throw it and bring one of the horses on deck. Something to keep them company for the long journey East. From my balcony I can read the faces of the men as they stare at the horses, the trees, and two-story houses. I know what they´re thinking when they see a man waving from a balcony, his red car in the drive below. They look at him and consider themselves lucky. What a mysterious piece of good fortune, they think, that´s brought them all this way to the deck of a ship bound for Asia. Those years of doing odd-jobs, or working in warehouses, or long-shoreing, or simply hanging out on the docks, are forgotten about. Those things happened to other, younger men, if they happened at all. The men on board raise their arms and wave back. Then stand still, gripping the rail, as the ship glides past. The horses move from under the trees and into the sun. They stand like statues of horses. Watching the ship as it passes. Waves breaking against the ship. Against the beach. And in the mind of the horses where it is always Asia.
