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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476588" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Full Moon Behind The Broken Femur Of A Jack Pine</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Full moon behind the broken femur of a jack pine<br>shattered by the wind on the ridge of the hill, <br>its pagoda of boughs, nothing but a lean-to now<br>for deer mice, fox, rabbit, groundhogs. <br>Old manuscripts of rock striated and stacked<br>by retreating glaciers <br>washing their hands of themselves.<br>The hill has never known a messiah <br>and the glaciers wrote for themselves. <br>The mast of the moon boat wrecked, <br>The rectal stake of Vlad the Impaler. <br>The axis of the world for the auto de fe <br>of some future heretic <br>with a penchant for the tragic.<br>No culpability in the event. <br>Hawk with an injured wing, <br>molar, stalagmite, Cinderella <br>sweeping up the pieces of a broken chandelier<br>so she won't cut her feet on the stars.<br>This tree talked to God. <br>This tree broke like an arrow <br>to make a truce with the wind.<br>Detonations of juniper and red ground willow, <br>splashes of tears and blood<br>going off like improvised explosive devices<br>in a mine-field covered in snow. <br>This tree was caught in a war-zone. <br>This tree is trying to flag a fighter back on deck.<br>This tree sailed out and met the French at Trafalgar. <br>This tree is a seasoned cannoneer <br>without a leg to stand on. <br>This tree is the capital A of a sacred alphabet.<br>The moon rises and shrinks from apricot <br>to blue-white toward zenith<br>and somehow metaphors <br>run off the back of the silence here<br>like water off a water bird<br>as a fractured pine <br>puts its finger up to my lips<br>and says shhhhhhh<br>there's nothing that can be said<br>that's going to make me whole again.<br>It's not me that you're trying to mend. <br>The wind shudders <br>with a bleak chill it doesn't recognize<br>like a power surge up its spine<br>as a cult of bats sweep the air helter skelter <br>like lunar butterflies with teeth.<br>The brutal clarity of broken things in the wild, <br>beautiful beyond compare <br>with anyone's reflexive remedies, <br>a wound more sublime <br>than the whole and the healed<br>among these groves that surround the hill<br>like devotees at Stonehenge <br>pouring blood libations <br>over the dolmen of a Druid <br>talking in tree language to the full moon<br>about things that haven't happened yet<br>and the things that inconceivably have.</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=476588" data-title="Full Moon Behind The Broken Femur Of A Jack Pine de Patrick White" data-description="Full moon behind the broken femur of a jack pine
shattered by the wind on the ridge of the hill, 
its pagoda of boughs, nothing but a lean-to now
for deer mice, fox, rabbit, groundhogs. 
Old manuscripts of rock striated and stacked
by retreating g..."></div>
</div>
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