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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476890" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sweet One, Sapphire Lapwing</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sweet one, sapphire lapwing, killdeer, comet; <br>how haven’t I seen you in everything, casino stars, <br>the high fires on the mountain that bloom in the snow, <br>and the tangerine daylilies like the tents of the street lamps <br>watching the streaming serpents flow over their roots, <br>even the razorblades, paperclips and bicycle pumps<br>have signed your guestbook, <br>and the rose and the rose and the rose <br>I left for your poetry, on the grave of your soft eclipse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You were so gentle about it; the way your words <br>slipped over and off the light, and your anger <br>that glowed like igneous subdued cherries, always <br>just a planet away from the darkness, <br>and the flaring emergency exits <br>that soaked the air with poppies: <br>you moved easily through yourself, kelp in a tide, <br>trailing your soft blue whips behind you <br>like the little threads of the stream where it meets the sea, <br>and something in you ends, and something else begins, <br>and you were grey and sad as an overcast Sunday morning <br>blue-greens of pagodas and pines, <br>and the mist that concealed your shrines.<br>And I realized I had to be water if I wanted to hear your voice, <br>and a few fireflies more, and I could see you alone in the haze <br>you wore like an ashen negligee, or a milky window.<br>Your life was all islands, and tulips clipped to butterflies, <br>Voices out of the dark, and the white birds that circled <br>the gaping mouths of your abandoned towers, like words <br>you’d left behind to remember the place.<br> <br>And I recall thinking as I read <br>how much you drifted through your poems like a capsized boat, <br>and of all the life that goes on underneath the silver leaves, <br>and the things that take shelter there from the rain, <br>and who was in the boat when it overturned.<br>And I wonder who the woman was under the eyelids that felt <br>like big, heavy drops of rain where the stars <br>swam away from their pain, not fleeing <br>but moving off in easy schools of lantern fish.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You were a lens, a dark translucency, <br>but you washed things deliberately out of focus like fog<br>that veils everything in its water skin. <br>You marveled in shadows, <br>and there was a fire, a smudge of cedar<br>somewhere on a lonely beach with starfish, <br>a small bouquet you were trying to uphold in the wind, <br>and your life depended on that, that was the part <br>that couldn’t go out, and I think it was your heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I heard the canary in the collapsed mines <br>trying to warn the miners to get out<br>but the warning always seemed to come too late; <br>And I began to wonder whether you <br>were coal on its way to diamond <br>or an ore with the moon inside<br>but it wasn’t until I stumbled across the smile of a knife <br>with your fingerprints all over the ivory handle<br>that I finally understood <br>that there had been a sacrifice, not a murder, <br>that you bled in the name of a lamb you once cherished, <br>and you must be young, or it would have been a goat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your poems were quick, impressionistic sketches <br>of a girl jumping from stone to stone across a creek<br>with an affection for her loneliness as if<br>all the dandelions had gone into exile.<br>I wasn’t quite sure what came out of the silk cocoons<br>you hung everywhere on the wet branches of your poetry, <br>sometimes I thought it was just you wrapped in blankets<br>and other times, dragonflies and violet fairies, <br>and there was hot honey in the sexual hives of your bees. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I think I fell in love with your ghost before I did you<br>when I realized that every poem was the next bucket <br>of a waterclock that was trying to get something off its skin, <br>each a small pond where you renewed your virginity<br>by bathing in mirrors, and that was how you knew <br>what time it was, and where you had been, <br>by all the swirling faces that floated downstream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now, something has changed, <br>you open the windows wider<br>and let the world in, your grey blue-green lichens <br>are no longer the masks of the moon, and your poems don’t end<br>with the flags of who you are <br>flying at halfmast as much anymore, <br>though I can still hear the odd sparrow <br>brain itself to death with a thud against a glass sky<br>and I like the new depth in the guest dimensions of your seeing. <br>And there are stars showing up everywhere like migrant candles <br>in all the nebular nests of your being.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I’ve stood here a long time now <br>and watched you rise shyly out of your poems<br>like the orange dancers in the forest who leap like flames<br>or the starmap of a mysterious constellation <br>I couldn’t identify above the hills of your body<br>until I saw it was the nightly journal of a blue panther<br>who had crept up on me in the invigilant silence from behind<br>as if two shadows had met in the dark like eyes and grapevines <br>and tangled up in each other like kites, <br>neither knowing where they began <br>or how they would end, if ever, <br>confessed to the webs and the wines <br>that they were in love with each other, <br>that there was lightning in the powerlines at last, <br>and transformers everywhere going off like landmines<br>and a voice in the shining, that knew, without a word, <br>that they were the sign of legends who woke without a past.</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=476890" data-title="Sweet One, Sapphire Lapwing de Patrick White" data-description="Sweet one, sapphire lapwing, killdeer, comet; 
how haven’t I seen you in everything, casino stars, 
the high fires on the mountain that bloom in the snow, 
and the tangerine daylilies like the tents of the street lamps 
watching the streaming se..."></div>
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