Wednesday, November 13, 2013

I TOUCHED THINGS DEEPLY TO REMIND MYSELF THEY WERE NOT MINE

I TOUCHED THINGS DEEPLY TO REMIND MYSELF THEY WERE NOT MINE

I touched things deeply to remind myself they were not mine
but the fingerprints and echoes of time the way
the mind seizes whatever it befriends,
a handful of nothing that clings to the wind,
the ghost of the moon when its bones are dust
and the juniper weeps at the eastern door
of a stranger’s burial hut deep in its heart
and love, love must come and depart
like a curse and a blessing from the miraculous occult
and wonder is the atmosphere we wander in
wounded by the blessings of a hurt metaphor
that waves its crutch to the silence and says farewell
to the candle in the lantern with the wick of midnight
still in its spell. You don’t have to doubt it anymore, you can tell
as the words fall sweetly from the urn and the bell.


PATRICK WHITE

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