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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476499" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Bared Of Its Leaves Like Native Peace Treaties</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Bared of its leaves like native peace treaties <br>with the westerlies who never kept them, <br>the last red planet of the chokecherry falls<br>into the claws of a black squirrel eyeing it <br>like a space rover looking for life on Mars.<br>O the myriad worlds you can see in a single mystic detail. <br>Bring me a hair of God and I'll pass through it <br>like a wormhole into the dark matter of the mind <br>going on behind the light like vital events <br>that are deeper than skin and blood on stage. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Just count the number of pathways through the woods <br>compared to the roads to know whether <br>you're in a good space or not. If people<br>wander to work in their own good time <br>or rush from one abyss to another <br>trying to get ahead of an ion waterclock.<br>Take the solitude out of society <br>and there's not much left worth talking about. <br>So I enjoin the silence to keep the acuity of my wonder <br>sharp as the thorns of a heart with nothing left to guard <br>after the wild rose ran off in one of her phases with the moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have long conversations with the stars <br>without a word or a gesture of grammar being said <br>in either of our mother-tongues that can't be understood <br>immediately, without the intermediary of a metaphor <br>or a dictionary that gets to the roots of things <br>like a star-nosed mole with no flowers in its soul. <br>No end of the distance between us when you measure it in miles <br>but insight travels faster than the speed of light <br>and both of us are shining in the same dark space <br>like an eye looking back at itself from a long way off. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The night is lonely, cold, and ageing but there's a fire <br>blazing in my heartwood the trees huddle around <br>as the shadows of the flames dart from trunk to trunk <br>with the alacrity and cunning of a wolf <br>that knows it's the last of its kind in these darkening hills<br>to embody the magic of its elders in its way of life. <br>Fear is the mind-killer. So I stay enthroned<br>by the stone navel of my firepit flowering <br>all around me like the corona of the sun at midnight <br>just to say I know the protocols of being as well as the rocks <br>when I rise to embrace strangers in my solitude<br>as the new spiritual familiars that will accompany me <br>on my long firewalk to the stars that are never <br>any further away than my future is from my past<br>or now is from here to there every step of the path</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The stars spin their webs in the crowns of the trees<br>into dreamcatchers with mythically inflated origins<br>that answer the paradigms of the constellations <br>by connecting the dots like wild grape vines <br>to the shapeshifting starmaps of the mind <br>I keep shedding like leaves and feathers and scales <br>to understand the underlying scaffoldings and skeletons <br>I climb up on like monkey bars <br>to repaint creation in everybody's image <br>but my own. My fire. My heart. I'm the host <br>of an expansive space that's generous enough <br>to embody it all without standing in jubilation<br>like an angel in the doorway as if there were <br>somebody home no one could account for.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A stranger in the thirteenth house of a misbegotten zodiac <br>of birthmarks driven out into the wilderness <br>like maniacs, prophets, poets and astronomical wise men <br>as scapegoats for the fate of upper class tattoos<br>that don't wash off any easier than the wind <br>teaching the stars that have just learned how to print<br>this cursive script I'm writing in like a mindstream <br>punctuating its passage with toadstools and pine-cones, <br>chokecherries, black walnuts, wild crab apples <br>and shepherd moons in decaying orbits around <br>the black hole at the center of the universe <br>we're all attached to like hinges to a gate <br>that only has to swing open once to everything <br>and it's good for as many lifetimes as you want to go through <br>like a labyrinth of exits leading into a clearing <br>deep within your heart where nothing exists <br>and yet inconceivably everything insists upon shining.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</a><div class=q>
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<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=476499" data-title="Bared Of Its Leaves Like Native Peace Treaties de Patrick White" data-description="Bared of its leaves like native peace treaties 
with the westerlies who never kept them, 
the last red planet of the chokecherry falls
into the claws of a black squirrel eyeing it 
like a space rover looking for life on Mars.
O the myriad worlds y..."></div>
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