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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476947" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Stars So Near</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The stars so near it seems the approaching morning<br>could wet its thumb and forefinger <br>and pinching their wicks like intimate candles<br>that have held the lovers close <br>and the ghosts at bay all night <br>put them out with a hiss. <br>An ancient mirror deep within me <br>I couldn’t bring myself to bury<br>with the woman who once looked into it <br>is beginning to flood like a river of eyes with autumn rain <br>and I want to cry for things <br>that have departed like water birds <br>from their circuitous reflections on the mindstream<br>and leave the heart knocking <br>like an empty lifeboat against the rocks<br>that no one sings from now. <br>I’ve stared at the moon several nights in a row <br>as if we drank from the same skull <br>and I want to elevate my tears to a higher level<br>as a rite of passage worthy of what I mourn <br>but no lights on in the lockmaster’s house<br>me and the moon both know <br>how impossible it is to raise the dead <br>from their watersheds<br>by adding a few tears to a dry seabed<br>out of the largesse of the living <br>in the wake of so many shadows.<br>I’m trying to align my third eye like a bubble <br>in the middle of a balance beam<br>and build on the cornerstone of the moon <br>a Taj Mahal of lunar coral to commemorate <br>the loss of so much beauty <br>to the things it touched like braille <br>as if it wasn’t enough just to light them up <br>but parting the depths of its fathomless veils<br>open their eyes as well. <br>I shall turn three times in the silver grass <br>and stretching my body out like a scar upon the earth <br>lay down in a deer-bed by the river<br>with her absence bigger than the night for awhile<br>and listen to the frogs and crickets <br>as I used to listen for her footfalls on the creaking stairs <br>and the moon won’t lay its sword of light on the waters<br>like a vow of separation to keep us apart <br>and I shall ask every star <br>down to the sixth magnitude of time and shining <br>what has become of her who used to weave<br>English ox-eyed daisies into her hair<br>as if she were already among the constellations<br>showing off the lesser luminaries of earth <br>as if there were nothing so small <br>nothing so slighted or disregarded <br>no moment of life so devoid of inspiration<br>even the fireflies that can’t stay fixed in one place <br>long enough to beat a path into a zodiac<br>and elaborate their own creation myths<br>into something unborn and unperishing <br>weren’t enlightened <br>by the immaculate darkness of her transience. <br>To suffer everything as if it were a blessing she once said. <br>I look up through the leafless bough of an aging maple <br>twisted like a burnt match stick <br>whose fire’s just flared out. <br>I look up at the stars <br>as if they’d built their webs between the branches<br>like momentary dream catchers. <br>And I can’t manage it.</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=476947" data-title="The Stars So Near de Patrick White" data-description="The stars so near it seems the approaching morning
could wet its thumb and forefinger 
and pinching their wicks like intimate candles
that have held the lovers close 
and the ghosts at bay all night 
put them out with a hiss. 
An ancient mirror de..."></div>
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