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Sunday 27 January 2013

Color






We cover our sleeping.
Exposure tugs
at the waking for warmth.

We wake the exposed.
Enclosure pushes
away the dreaming cold.

2 comments:

  1. Late in the cold night wakened, and heard wind,
    And lay with eyes closed and silent, knowing
    These words how bodiless they are, this darkness
    Empty under my roof and the panes rattling
    Roughed by wind. And so lay and imagined
    Somewhere far off black seas heavy-shouldered
    Plunging on sand and the ebb off-streaming and
    Thunder forever. So lying bethought me, friend,
    What traffic ghouls have, or this be legend,
    In low inland hollows of the earth, under
    Shade of moon, the night moaning, and bitter frost;
    And feared the riches of my bones, long given
    Into this earth, should tumble to their hands.
    No girl or ghost beside me, and I lonely,
    Remembering gardens, lilac scent, or twilight
    Descending late in summer on that town,
    I lay and found my years departed from me,
    And feared the cold bed and the wind, absurdly
    Alone with silence and the trick of tears.

    --Robert Fitzgerald
    "Night Images" from Spring Shade: Poems 1931-1970 (New Directions, 1971)

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  2. What a poem! Thank-you, whoever you are...

    ReplyDelete