Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476656" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>I Sit At My Window</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I sit at my window<br>trying to translate the Kufic script <br>of the shadows of the trees on the snow, <br>smoking the invisible ink of the light <br>over the flame of my mind<br>to clarify my seeing<br>by realizing there is no deep or shallow<br>in the fathomless depths of I am, <br>nothing hidden, nothing revealed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And it's not so much that I am in the presence of the world, <br>but that the presence, the world, is me, <br>and if I go looking for it, <br>only my fingerprints will be found<br>like these violet shadows dusted by the snow <br>under my multitudinous mugshot in the mirror.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So I open my mind and my eye, my heart and my hand<br>and let things arise as they will, <br>knowing that even this is a blunder<br>that advances my tardy illumination by another eclipse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This morning blue is the taste of the sky <br>and I am alive again at my desk <br>to wonder who or what or why I might be <br>this wondering spontaneity <br>circling like a bird in the abyss, <br>feathered by feeling and thought <br>for a tree or a meaning to perch in <br>that hasn't already been struck <br>by the lightning of my homeless insight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Indwelling energy in the turmoil of a terrible silence, <br>I am an ambassador of water to an unknown star <br>that foils my blood with light the closer I approach<br>and I don't know what the message is <br>or who it's from, but every time I deliver it, <br>my head comes off like the moon.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At some point you have to give up looking <br>to go on seeing, you must <br>come to a full stop <br>if you want to liberate the pen <br>that indicts you like an assassin <br>with his ear to the wall.<br> <br>So I go by night, unheeded and alone, <br>a constellation of my own <br>that doesn't read the braille of itself <br>reflected like direction in the starchart on the lake, <br>cored like eyes into the dice of my bones, <br>or mummified by a legend in a straitjacket<br>interred in the long-standing consensus of a guess, <br>knowing I would only be following my own footprints <br>like the shadows of these words<br>that flow from the trees in the snow.<br> <br>And there are squirrels that leap from branch to branch <br>of these arboreal letters like commas <br>that don't know where they go<br>and wrens that perch like quotation marks<br>around things that can never be said<br>that everyone claims they know<br>as they call out their name <br>like the echoless vocabulary <br>of a febrile grammar in a mad dream <br>as if their whole life were ingathered into one last scream <br>that might shatter the mirror of the way things inevitably seem.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I listen to the world and hear in each person and form <br>the mindstream moving through the night <br>like the voice of a mystic alphabet<br>returning to the sea<br>with news of itself<br>whispered into its own ear.<br> <br>And if sometimes the stars think <br>my seeing goes too far, <br>my seeking exceeds the bounds of the light, <br>as it turns planets like doorknobs <br>to open new rooms in a dark mansion<br>that stands like an abandoned cornerstone of the night on a hill<br>waiting for me to return like a lost threshold, <br>or the faceless side of the moon to a window, <br>then let me here and now confess to my own denial <br>and knock on the door of the next false address <br>to see if I can find who wrote <br>this loveletter that slashes me open like a smile<br>and reads me out loud to the stars on the wind<br>as if I were the last flare from an empty lifeboat.</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>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<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=476656" data-title="I Sit At My Window de Patrick White" data-description="I sit at my window
trying to translate the Kufic script 
of the shadows of the trees on the snow, 
smoking the invisible ink of the light 
over the flame of my mind
to clarify my seeing
by realizing there is no deep or shallow
in the fathomless de..."></div>
</div>
</div>