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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395299" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Another Night in Ruins</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">1<br>In the evening<br>haze darkening on the hills, <br>purple of the eternal, <br>a last bird crosses over, <br>‘flop flop,' adoring<br>only the instant.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 2<br>Nine years ago,<br>in a plane that rumbled all night <br>above the Atlantic,<br>I could see, lit up<br>by lightning bolts jumping out of it, <br>a thunderhead formed like the face<br>of my brother, looking down <br>on blue,<br>lightning-flashed moments of the Atlantic.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 3<br>He used to tell me,<br>&quot;What good is the day? <br>On some hill of despair <br>the bonfire<br>you kindle can light the great sky—<br>though it's true, of course, to make it burn <br>you have to throw yourself in ...&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 4<br>Wind tears itself hollow<br>in the eaves of these ruins, ghost-flute<br>of snowdrifts<br>that build out there in the dark: <br>upside-down ravines <br>into which night sweeps<br>our cast wings, our ink-spattered feathers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 5<br>I listen.<br>I hear nothing. Only<br>the cow, the cow of such <br>hollowness, mooing<br>down the bones.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 6<br>Is that a<br>rooster? He<br>thrashes in the snow <br>for a grain. Finds <br>it. Rips<br>it into<br>flames. Flaps. Crows. <br>Flames<br>bursting out of his brow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> 7<br>How many nights must it take<br>one such as me to learn<br>that we aren't, after all, made<br>from that bird that flies out of its ashes, <br>that for us<br>as we go up in flames, our one work<br>is<br>to open ourselves, to be<br>the flames?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Galway+Kinnell">Galway Kinnell</a><div class=q>
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In the evening
haze darkening on the hills, 
purple of the eternal, 
a last bird crosses over, 
‘flop flop,' adoring
only the instant.

 2
Nine years ago,
in a plane that rumbled all night 
above the Atlantic,
I could see, lit up
by lightning ..."></div>
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