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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476873" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Someone Lingers In Your Absence Like An Icon</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Someone lingers in your absence like an icon, a gate <br>to an open field where the white horse<br>that stood in the tall grass, grazing on its solitude <br>like a phase of the moon come to earth <br>is gone. A bird, a purple martin with so much <br>distance and disappearance in it wings <br>and the open vastness of the skies it was absorbed by<br>I can barely hear you singing from here<br>over the raving of an unkempt wind on a crazy night<br>when the ghosts are rioting in their graves <br>like old leaves without attachments at the feet of the new<br>and gravity receives the grave goods of the tree<br>as do I these strange epiphanies of you <br>that haunt me retroactively like apple-bloom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the depth of the emptiness that informs <br>the substance of my imaginings, devastates me<br>like an eclipse slowly swallowing my heart<br>like a black cataract of snake skin I keep <br>trying to shake like a cosmic egg without much luck.<br> <br>As if I were bleeding out like a rose after<br>the green thorns have hardened into fangs <br>that are killing and curing me at the same time.<br>Some nights I just want to join my emptiness to yours <br>and be done with it, no more of this, no more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No more of watching the beauty of the world <br>burn out into a dark radiance that makes me <br>want to gouge my eyes out so I can see it without wincing. <br>Without feeling so wounded by the abundance of the rose <br>that blooms and disappears like the auroral apparitions<br>of a widow in veils of spider webs and black lightning, <br>thinking it might be you under there somewhere I can't go <br>without losing you again. Check-mate. Pain.<br>And it isn't anything either of us can do anything about. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It just goes down that way. The absence of your shining, <br>small nonrenewable gestures of your heart and hands <br>vividly recalled like modest butterfly volumes of poetry <br>blowing down an abandoned street at night in the rain, you<br>sewing a patch on my heart with the delicacy of a needle <br>mending a flying carpet grounded like a wavelength of light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As I am now that you've become that rip in my heart <br>all the stars are pouring out of like a puncture wound<br>I let go right through me like needles and gamma rays <br>piercing the heart of a voodoo doll of dark matter<br>that makes me feel like wooden puppet of light <br>carved out of one of these black walnut trees.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Endure. Participate. See. Wonder. <br>Praise. Celebrate. Mourn. Do the next best thing.<br>And when you're hurting your worst, sing. <br>And even when I'm soldiering my way through stone<br>like a flying fish in the wrong medium, <br>or walking alone with the Alone through the woods, <br>just to meet you where you ask me to when you call <br>and I come like a burning bridge down to the river, <br>wondering if I might have lived here once in another lifetime, <br>I do say these things to myself like medicinal chants <br>and preventative medicine, healing totems with benign effect <br>hung in the medicine bag slung around my neck. <br>Sweet grass and a pinch of sacred earth, just in case <br>I forget how to dance on my own grave<br>with grace and flare and style and an enigmatic smile<br>that really means it if it really means anything at all. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or not succumb to this ice-age of a bell<br>my tongue is stuck to like a child's to a wire fence, <br>or this black diamond nightbird <br>that cuts my darkness to the quick<br>because it's got nothing to sing about <br>that can answer the call of the living for someone<br>on a foggy hill to come to the rescue of the empty lifeboat<br>drifting like the corpse of a dead swan downriver, <br>except the dead air of this strange place <br>where space is indelibly bruised by the passing <br>of the beauty it once contained like stars in a Mason jar.<br> <br>Like a candle in the lantern of a skull <br>I've carried before me like a nightwatchman <br>on the edge of a dangerous precipice for lightyears <br>until I lost my footing and fell in one night, <br>as I once did into love, and learned to see in the dark<br>I was growing wings where I had none before <br>and looking up from the bottom of an empty wishing well <br>noticed the dead still blooming like stars <br>in the white shadows of the sun at midnight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And out of the corners of my eyes <br>when what I can't see what need to know about being alive <br>comes looking for me like the sacred syllable <br>on the lips of a pearl diver on the moon in total eclipse<br>like a kiss out of nowhere, comes like the singing bird <br>to the dead branch in my heart <br>that's having trouble remembering how to blossom<br>after a long winter, as if you'd summoned me to the trees <br>like a purple passage in the Book of the Dead, <br>to teach me how to take the pain<br>and through the alchemy of the grief <br>that flows through my heartwood like light and rain<br>turn it into life again, as if every leaf <br>were a new loveletter from the dead<br>I've been saving for years like expurgated starmaps <br>illustrated by exiled constellations in Braille<br>to a spiritual lost and found at my fingertips<br>where they know who you are, and they've seen you<br>like a soft moonrise glowing through the willows <br>down by the river that weeps like a black mirror<br>for the stars and waterbirds in passing<br>that appear and disappear each in its time<br>and you wait for me like the longing of the dead <br>to make some kind of sign, however simple and austere, <br>the withered star of a wild rose without a flower, <br>that let's me know you're near, you're here<br>rooted in me on earth where we've both come<br>to renew our shining from the bottom up to the blossom.</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=476873" data-title="Someone Lingers In Your Absence Like An Icon de Patrick White" data-description="Someone lingers in your absence like an icon, a gate 
to an open field where the white horse
that stood in the tall grass, grazing on its solitude 
like a phase of the moon come to earth 
is gone. A bird, a purple martin with so much 
distance and..."></div>
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