<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=428489" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Late Aubade &amp; Explanation</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Once in a field, in a wide rising stretch of paintbrush<br> &amp; purple vetch, we stuck down</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a tent, like punctuation, and drank through the evening<br>our bottle of bad wine. When you looked up,<br>the weather was holding: a few breezes,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a full moon silvering the flowers</div><div style="margin:10px 0">to white. In the distance, I heard the ache<br>&amp; slide of snow, the beginning of crickets. It was twilight&mdash;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">the landscape was lifting.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &bull;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> A mountain. The clouds, further up,<br>came down. A Book of Hours. A tent in which we twisted,<br>pressed each against the other, drunk</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and when I stepped out into the cool <br>moonlight, there was drifting through the watery<br>end of the meadow, a deer</div><div style="margin:10px 0">pale beneath pines, beneath those soaring<br>darknessess. Then there was only darkness, the <br>idea of a deer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Remember, I never wanted<br>to be alive, to have<br>an outline. Better, I knew, to slip</div><div style="margin:10px 0">unheld, an opening into mist.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Kate+Northrop">Kate Northrop</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=428489" data-title="Late Aubade &amp; Explanation de Kate Northrop" data-description="Once in a field, in a wide rising stretch of paintbrush &amp; purple vetch, we stuck down a tent, like punctuation, and drank through the evening our bottle of bad wine. When you looked up, the weather was holding: a few breezes, a full moon si..."></div> </div> </div>

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