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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519062" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>At Sea</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">It is not through weeping,<br>but all evening the pale blue eye<br>on your most photogenic side has kept<br>its own unfathomable tide. Like the boy<br>at the dyke I have been there:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">held out a huge finger, <br>lifted atoms of dust with the point<br>of a tissue and imagined slivers of hair<br>in the oil on the cornea. We are both<br>in the dark, but I go on</div><div style="margin:10px 0">drawing the eyelid up by its lashes<br>folding it almost inside-out, then finding<br>and hiding every mirror in the house<br>as the iris, besieged with the ink<br>of blood rolls back</div><div style="margin:10px 0">into its own orbit. Nothing<br>will help it. Through until dawn<br>you dream the true story of the boy<br>who hooked out his eye and ate it, <br>so by six in the morning</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am steadying the ointment<br>that will bite like an onion, piping<br>a line of cream while avoiding the pupil <br>and in no time it is glued shut<br>like a bad mussel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Friends call round<br>and mean well. They wait<br>and whisper in the air-lock of the lobby<br>with patches, eyewash, the truth<br>about mascara.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Even the cats are on to it; <br>they bring in starlings, and because their feathers<br>are the colours of oil on water in sunlight<br>they are a sign of something.<br>In the long hours</div><div style="margin:10px 0">beyond us, irritations heal<br>into arguments. For the eighteenth time<br>it comes to this: the length of your leg sliding out<br>from the covers, the ball of your foot<br>like a fist on the carpet</div><div style="margin:10px 0">while downstairs<br>I cannot bring myself to hear it.<br>Words have been spoken; things that were bottled<br>have burst open and to walk in now<br>would be to walk in</div><div style="margin:10px 0">on the ocean.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Simon+Armitage">Simon Armitage</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=519062" data-title="At Sea de Simon Armitage" data-description="It is not through weeping,
but all evening the pale blue eye
on your most photogenic side has kept
its own unfathomable tide. Like the boy
at the dyke I have been there:

held out a huge finger, 
lifted atoms of dust with the point
of a tissue and..."></div>
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