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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476573" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Faceless This Time Of Night</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Faceless this time of night, my skin evaporates like dry ice<br>into a deepening sense of containment<br>by a dark space with distant cities of light <br>trying to colonize the Pythagorean fireflies of Cretona, <br>or the shimmering mirage of Port Angeles<br>dancing like a seance at the foot of the mountains <br>across a hundred miles of the Georgia Strait at night, <br>the immensity of the freedom that dwarfs the stars<br>with the sheer magnitude of the labour before them. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The fragility of a spinal cord traversing the abyss<br>of a one-stringed box guitar made of cardboard <br>when you were a kid, the mere filament <br>of an anachronistic light bulb with the lifespan <br>of the wick of an apostate candle at a black mass, <br>disappointed it wasn't born a flower, <br>but a weed more at home among the stars<br>that uprooted it from its intimacy with the earth<br>like a kindred spirit of light<br>that must wander through its own solitude <br>like music at night from an open window<br>in the life of the mind to reach out to them <br>like a tendril of smoke from the embering nugget <br>of the heart nesting in a private crown of fire<br>that abdicated its empire of ashes for a single note <br>of the night bird's longing to sing back up <br>like a bell for a sad universe that's always on the road.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hear crying in the distance, the dark lament of the hills.<br>The night creek weeping unseen through hidden valleys. <br>I can taste the deaths and sorrows, the broken promises <br>of the rain, drifting like the fragrance of a waterlily <br>like a star reflected on the undivined watershed of its tears<br>saturating the air. Matter a condensation of the light, <br>I can feel life moving through this body, this flesh, <br>this scrap of starmud, a rush of water, a gust of stars, <br>a purple passage of blood, a breath of fire and wind, <br>and the earth, not solid, but real, animating all my limbs, <br>my vital organs like the ripening fruit of a rootless tree<br>as if time wept like a bell in me as well, and its tears, <br>heavy with the weight of too many separations, <br>yet wise in the ways of the sky, sweetened the fall to come.</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=476573" data-title="Faceless This Time Of Night de Patrick White" data-description="Faceless this time of night, my skin evaporates like dry ice
into a deepening sense of containment
by a dark space with distant cities of light 
trying to colonize the Pythagorean fireflies of Cretona, 
or the shimmering mirage of Port Angeles
dan..."></div>
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