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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476553" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Each Window Its Moon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each window its moon, <br>and a thousand lakes around here <br>each wearing it like a medallion.<br>The spirit of a woman haunts me <br>as the starlings head for home <br>and I just want to go down by the river awhile <br>and sit among some companionable bones<br>while the daylilies tender their buds <br>to the hot night air, and the river runs by me <br>without any notion of what I see in it. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No waterlilies yet, but the wild irises <br>are protruding out of their blue green sheaths <br>like cartridges of lipstick, and the clouds clear <br>and the stars get me thinking about her again, <br>and all the tender lucidities held in abeyance <br>I would say to her if she were here. <br>My heart startles me and jumps like a fish.<br>The fireflies play a game with me <br>where I have to guess what constellation <br>I'm in now as they ricochet off the water like a starmap.<br> <br>She's beautiful and bright and dangerous <br>as a witch in heat, and she's been hurt so deeply <br>she loves the stars the way I do because <br>distance is a guarantee of their innocence <br>and she uses her pain like a weapon<br>on behalf of other people who suffer as she does. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who hasn't been wounded deeply by someone they loved? <br>Who hasn't thought of suicide in a bus station washroom <br>where the mirrors won't leave you alone with yourself <br>long enough to think of a destination <br>that isn't bleak and unknown and against the way <br>your heart's aching to go, you go, you just go <br>as you throw the face you just wiped off in the trash can<br>and try to get on with a life that's over? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And once the scars have healed what they could<br>the terrifying blandness of a world that tramples <br>on the absence deep within you everyone ignores <br>by whipping your heart with advice, as the leaves <br>are hair braided like feathers into the tresses of the willows, <br>clarity, peace, and a solitude that understands you <br>better than anyone else can, one afternoon <br>in a backyard somewhere, sitting alone <br>in the shadow water of the maples and black walnuts<br>inundating the grass as the sun goes down, <br>when you least expect it, resonate with your awareness <br>of being lost, but delighting in the fact you can't be found, <br>without feeling your happiness is some kind of consolation prize.<br>The ant with the wing of a butterfly in its mandible <br>doesn't shine like a star cluster of floral chandeliers<br>they way love once did, it glows like a tiny coal of life <br>turning to diamond in the heart. Arcturus in Bootes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Brutal exigencies acceptable to an incomprehensible radiance, <br>the commotion that has stirred the prophetic cauldron <br>for light years now has almost always been terminally creative<br>and I've always known the absurdity I'm dying in the name of <br>has been accelerated by dark energy into the expansiveness <br>of a sublimated kind of love that evaporates <br>like the ghosts of a diamond of dry ice into the night.<br>Sometimes it feels as if I've been working nightshift <br>on the looms of the spiders weaving curtains <br>to hang over the mouth of a screaming window<br>that never got over breaking up with the moon. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No longer apprenticed to a mage of crazy wisdom <br>I could take it from here on my own like this river <br>if I had to. I could flow like a diamond all the way to the sea.<br>I could get drunk down here with Li Po's shadow <br>and drown in my own reflection, trying to embrace the moon. <br>And it would be all right, all right. I could live with that.<br>Like a red shift in the way I paint, and sure proof <br>I'm not wasting my life writing poems inspired by the abyss. <br>I could live like the black stone of a meteorite <br>that was never meant to be kissed, and it would be all right, <br>I could always tell myself when I needed a delusion <br>to rationalize why I've come so far the way I have, <br>I was a nickel-iron tektite with new paradigms of life <br>in my core that were contaminating life<br>with the antidotal memes of a creative future <br>that doesn't replicate like logos into the brittle corals of life<br>we're all being keel-hauled over like the hull of the moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I could tell myself all that but there would be one black pearl <br>like a new moon missing from the rosary of the truth<br>like the unknown name of someone inconceivably absent<br>as I sit here waiting for her to step out of the birch groves <br>like a white-tailed doe. Because I've become too foolish <br>to make a fool of myself, too hermetically balanced <br>to damn my own salvation for the sake of a greater bliss? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I've always thought it was a lunar privilege to love someone <br>and if they loved you back with anymore light <br>than a reflected glory with a few stars in it <br>to spice up the flavour of the imported candles, <br>you lived in the aura of a human divinity <br>like a paradise without any gates and you could <br>write poems on the wings of the butterflies <br>they passed on to the wild flowers that inspired them. <br>You could forgive the thorns of the locust tree full of bees <br>for not wanting to die like martyrs to their own blessings. <br>Or the begging bowls of necessity that came to realize <br>that life was something they couldn't afford <br>not to be attached to. And maybe I've been <br>looking at the stars too long for things <br>they don't know themselves, but it all made <br>incandescent human sense to counterpoint <br>all that lonely fury in the cold distance, <br>that can be dwarfed by the loneliness of people, <br>to ingather all the supernovas of my expanding afterlives <br>and use them to kindle the shining of someone I loved. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I was willing to tap into the heat of hell itself if need be <br>so she could bathe naked among the stars<br>blowing bubbles like the multiverse into the abyss<br>that always smelled like cucumbers and apricots<br>as greater than a goddess, she shampooed her hair <br>and clipped the dead ends of the willows like a woman <br>highlighted by the medicinal signs of her intelligence.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A discipline, an art, a devotion, a grace of human nature <br>in the service of a body, a mind, and a spirit<br>that wasn't unacquainted with demons, <br>I lived like a warrior on the cutting edge <br>of growing thresholds in perilous doorways<br>as the sages of my dragon blood stood watch over her <br>as she dreamed, and wherever she touched me <br>my scales turned into the feathers of fabulous fire birds<br>and I was the happy heretic who burned in sin<br>at the stakes of desire without any apprehension <br>of punishment or isolation in an urn of ashes. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Immolations of the spirit in a sexual narcosis <br>of gratified dreams. Sex as the bread of the soul, <br>butter on a cat's feet, salt on the tail of the bird, <br>the lyric of the mob, the muse of the poet's ode, <br>champagne and mud, the mythic inflation of love, <br>the dark root of the white blossom in the moonrise. <br>The jewel in the lotus like the third eye of a dropp of dew<br>shining translucently in a flash flood of light <br>from stars that bloom like the flowers of solitude. <br>Time for the angels to sleep with the daughters<br>of men again. Time for the demons to dance <br>with the fireflies like the shadows of candles <br>in a shrine to what's holy about the devoutly insane.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hour come round to break this windowpane <br>like a pact between me and the stars and return <br>this journey of enlightenment back to the place <br>it started from like a mountain in the valley of a woman. <br>Let my eyes thaw. And her passion be the firewalk <br>of a weathervane that's never sure which way <br>the wind's playing for keeps from one day to the next. <br>Breach the clarity of the abyss with the bliss<br>of a commotion that surpasses the void bound <br>intimacies of a peace that's about to return to transcendence.</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=476553" data-title="Each Window Its Moon de Patrick White" data-description="Each window its moon, 
and a thousand lakes around here 
each wearing it like a medallion.
The spirit of a woman haunts me 
as the starlings head for home 
and I just want to go down by the river awhile 
and sit among some companionable bones
whil..."></div>
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