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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476548" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Drifting Tonight, A Poem In The Corner Of My Eye</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Drifting tonight, a poem in the corner of my eye, <br>maybe a crumb of sleep from last night's dream, <br>the willows have grown up a lot since I last came here <br>but the stars they fix like flowers in their hair <br>even the lake can't rinse out, haven't changed much. <br>I seek out this precarious granite ledge<br>shaped like half an anvil or a stone age bicycle seat<br>with its thatch of moss and yellow grass<br>and this little patch of dirt, struggling <br>to cling to the rock, I've come to trust empathically <br>as if many others sat here before me <br>and watched the moon belly dancing on the undulant waves. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Abandoned heron's nests in the boneyard<br>of marble trees, broken statuary in the moonlight <br>wading through the wild rice with their skirts <br>above their white, white knees. I come here <br>to listen to my solitude like a Tarot deck of constellations, <br>missing a couple of cards when it was stolen from the Sufis.<br>A nocturne of fate I'm being very cool about <br>I sing in dark harmony with the nightbirds <br>counterpointing the silence with sudden rills of longing<br>my heart resonates with like the hidden wavelength of sorrow<br>that it's almost autumn, getting too late for anyone to come, <br>except for one firefly shining behind her veils <br>like a diamond in eclipse, a tattoo on the eyelids<br>of a black velvet painting of bullfighting rose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And something deeper, more dangerous, like pike <br>moving just under the surface like nuclear submarines <br>under the Arctic ice-caps of circumpolar cataracts, <br>while night creatures are out hunting each other's flesh <br>all around me as if the loss of life and the joy it took <br>in being a field mouse with a mouthful of seeds<br>were merely collateral damage in the owl's eyes <br>of remarkably no significance at all. Life smells<br>of carrion in the nest, though we all light incense<br>to deny it. And try to feel as convincingly as we can<br>life heals its own absence like a wound in water, <br>like a mouse squealing in midflight above <br>the waterlily starmaps that hide the snapping turtles.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Generations have sat here before me <br>with their heads on the flying buttresses of their knees <br>to relieve the stress of the dome of their prophetic skulls <br>on the walls of a cathedral wilderness<br>pioneered into the empty one-roomed <br>wooden churches around here where the flies cluster<br>like spiritual footnotes with no real faith in what they say.<br>And the pioneers have all been ploughed under <br>and then exhumed and placed in a less savage cemetery <br>than the earth without black iron fences and gates <br>trying to imitate the tree line of a militant event horizon<br>around the graveside of the black hole we all fall into<br>when we attribute a meaning to death it doesn't give to itself.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And life and love follow suit, knowing there's nothing to risk, <br>nothing to shed, nothing to reveal, nothing to explain or understand <br>that isn't whispered in your own voice into your own ear <br>so nature could imitate art by deepening the mystery <br>of the human spirit walking like the stars on its own waters<br>as if it weren't a miracle the whole sky <br>with all its legends of shining doesn't go out in our tears<br>and love turn into a black farce of suggestive preconceptions <br>dancing for our heads, as if we'll be eating <br>honey and locusts, dressed in the hides of wild jackasses, <br>or in this lunar wilderness of shadows and wraiths<br>wolfskins on despondent shamans with <br>two heads on their shoulders like snake-eyes <br>trying to howl like smouldering volcanoes at the moon <br>with one heart, one mind, igneously alloyed<br>to the heartache and longing that can suddenly <br>startle and blossom out of the darkness <br>like the blue fire of the Pleiades flaring through <br>the crowns of the trees as if love were a conversation<br>between two, like a star and the eye it's shining in, <br>it only takes one to sing.</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=476548" data-title="Drifting Tonight, A Poem In The Corner Of My Eye de Patrick White" data-description="Drifting tonight, a poem in the corner of my eye, 
maybe a crumb of sleep from last night's dream, 
the willows have grown up a lot since I last came here 
but the stars they fix like flowers in their hair 
even the lake can't rinse out, haven't c..."></div>
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