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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=477014" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>What I Would Say To You</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">What I would say to you if you were near, <br>	if this definitive namelessless that walks me down to the river <br>to add my tears to the flowing, to sit on my rock<br>and stare at my self in reverse on a throne of water<br>	enrobed in my star-dazzled solitude, setting fire <br>		to poems I never wanted to own, <br>every burning lily of paper floating away <br>like another crown I've set free <br>	from this domain of air and shadows<br>to seek its own regency, its own unknowable moment of shining, <br>	weren't the eyeless oblivion that engendered us both; <br>		I would say to you in the pyres and the petals <br>of these wild wounded swans, in the black down and ash <br>	of these exorcised ghosts, in the dream wakes <br>		of these poems that confess their love to the flames<br>with every exhalation, with every feather of smoke <br>	gone to smudge the sky of the stars that brought them here<br>		in the form of a man, I would say, <br>it was always the hive of your silence <br>	that was the fairest likeness of you, the bluest honey<br>		rarer than night, I've ever tasted.<br>And I'd try not to talk too much, <br>letting the fish jump for the two of us, <br>	and the winged serpents of the luminosity slip away<br>like things not said into the water <br>	and I'd draw you in under the bough of my arm <br>		that was never much of a yoke <br>as if you were the fruit of an astounded tree, <br>	and hold you a long time in the vastness<br>		before I turned to kiss you for everything<br>and fall down back into the silver grass <br>	to make love to you on the moon. <br>And you in my arms again, your cheek on my chest<br>your leg across mine, my hand, a wing of tender caresses, <br>	I would mingle blood and starlight <br>with the wine of your body and being <br>like a chalice lying empty by the river<br>	that has brought us both to drink from one another<br>		like the deer that will come out later from the grove <br>to drink from their own reflections. And gestures of life and death<br>	would flutter through me like the red-winged blackbirds<br>		among the scepters of the cattails, <br>and I'd want to thank and accuse the incomprehensible sky <br>	for this night of being human long enough <br>		to understand its brevity is its beauty<br>and its brevity goes on forever like you and I, <br>burnt poems, wounded swans, lovers, indelibly.<br>	<br>	Life is suggested to us, never proclaimed, <br>like the course of the river, as the limbs of the fallen oak<br> look as if they're trying to swim, and one poem <br>		more enduring than the rest, <br>floats downstream under a frozen elbow <br>raised to take the next stroke, <br>	and with a final flare as it comes to the end of itself<br>levitates up into the air and disappears like a buddha <br>into the absolute perfect emptiness of an enlightenment<br>	that grasps at nothing. Form<br>is emptiness; emptiness is form, and the poem <br>	had a good death I suppose as a lifeboat in flames, <br>		and though you're not with me now, <br>we've never been apart, as the shadow of an unknown bird<br>	lands on the water, and then another, <br>		and I think of them as you and I <br>arriving somewhere together out of the sky and the night<br>	and the bright vacancy <br>between the sidereal knots <br>in the nets of the constellations, to drift among the stars awhile<br>	weary of flying, two poems back from the dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">		And I wonder what love is, knowing <br>love is I wonder what love is, <br>as the fireflies flash their assent, <br>	and the cars pass in the distance on highbeam, <br>and the frogs spring away from their flints. And I come here <br>	as much for the island that spreads the stream <br>		into the waterlegs of a woman <br>like the orchid of her sex, as to be alone with myself <br>	like a wharf deeply saddened by a thousand farewells, <br>		to launch my fleet of poems <br>like the blossoms of the abandoned orchard on the far bank.<br>	I like being a child alone on the shores of things, <br>		turning the stones over, lost like a fragrance<br>among the whispering flowers, ruling my loneliness like a stick, .<br>	and I've always asked questions no one could answer, <br>		awed by the fact of being here at all<br>under stars I can name like personal friends, but here, <br>	everything's got a mouth of its own to answer, <br>		and the answers seem more timeless for being left unsaid.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I'm never as old by these waters <br>	as I am anywhere else, and the dusty apricot of the moon<br>		you told me to watch as you would <br>is always so much more on this undulant black mirror<br>than a window will ever be able to say to a man at a desk. <br>	There's a birch and three willows <br>and the third of the three is you <br>dipping your hair in the water<br>	as if you were trying to root in glass.<br>And it's no surprise to know you know how <br>	to drink the whole river in a single gulp <br>		and swallow a whole star with your eyes<br>in a single glimmer <br>	the way a solitary dropp of water<br>		at the tip of the tongue of the stargrass<br> entirely fits the entire skin of the sky<br>	because I already know how you can consume the whole of me<br>		from the nightsong in the flight of the bird in my voice<br>and from a single hair of your head, <br>	or the eyelash on your cheek<br>		that is all that separates us now, <br>from the ashes on the last breath of a single burning poem, <br>	so I can be here with you as I have always been <br>		on the other side of death <br>where everything in creation <br>above and below this river of night, <br>	from the furthest galaxy <br>to the dragonfly on my right<br>is expanding like a lily of fire into us, <br>		as if we were the emptiness that receives the light.<br>So it's easy to know where it's all going; <br>	releasing these little fire-boats on the stream, <br>		raising themselves up like the breathless flowers of a dream<br>rooted in the infinite depths of the knowing, <br>	it's always, like birds and stars and fish <br> been flowing into us.</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=477014" data-title="What I Would Say To You de Patrick White" data-description="What I would say to you if you were near, 
	if this definitive namelessless that walks me down to the river 
to add my tears to the flowing, to sit on my rock
and stare at my self in reverse on a throne of water
	enrobed in my star-dazzled solitud..."></div>
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