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