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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476620" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I Can't Say</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I can’t say that my breath <br>	isn’t the lengthening shadow <br>		of a tree burning its leaves <br>like a candlabra in the sunset, <br>	or the moon hasn’t broken its tooth <br>		trying to open the lotus of marrow <br>I motherlode in the lockets of my bones <br>	like silver and bread <br>		for the long, lean journey ahead.<br>Sometimes when I look at the stars and wonder <br>	I feel like a cigarette-butt <br>		in a glass of mystic wine, <br>my little humanity, a grain of dust <br>	on a sidereal windowsill, if that, <br>		and I remember the ignorant sincerity <br>of the orchards that sweetened their apples <br>	like a windfall of hearts <br>		under my eyelids as I dreamed<br>night after night <br>	of unknown thresholds <br>		I might cross like a smile or a shadow <br>down this blood-road of blossoms and storms <br>	that I have carried everywhere with me <br>		like a snake in a bag. <br>There was a silence at the end of my fingertips <br>	when I reached out to touch a cheek or flower, <br>		so beautiful, so intense <br>I am certain I felt the pulse of God <br>	throbbing like a bird in her vastness, <br>		that I could almost forgive time <br>the bridge of cornerstones <br>	that trampled me like a grape <br>		in a stampede of asteroids<br>and buried me like water on the moon<br> in an avalanche of skulls.<br>	My tears fall from the eaves of my sorrows <br>indifferently as rain <br>	trying to wake seeds <br>		like the eye of a needle <br>to patch the wounded earth with roots.<br>	And I am still demonic enough <br>		to prefer the clarity of the flame <br>to the pillars of smoke that pass for wisdom, <br>	though I know it means <br>		sailing off the edge of the world<br>like a galaxy on its own event horizon <br>	with the empty hand of the wind<br>		on a rudder it mistakes for a wing. <br>I don’t think I’ll go very far when I die. <br>	I’ll pour my snake out like wine, like a candle<br>		like music from the flutes of my bones<br>and charm my way <br>	like the fragrance of a stone rose <br>		through the dark, nameless gate <br>I’ve been walking through since I was born.</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=476620" data-title="I Can't Say de Patrick White" data-description="I can’t say that my breath 
	isn’t the lengthening shadow 
		of a tree burning its leaves 
like a candlabra in the sunset, 
	or the moon hasn’t broken its tooth 
		trying to open the lotus of marrow 
I motherlode in the lockets of my bones 
..."></div>
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