We remember so little, We are certain of nothing. We long to perish into the absolute. Where is a mountain To spread its snowfields for us like a shawl? You might begin, @3The men who come to see me are not exactly lovers.@1 Or, @3Seen at a distance the gazelle is blue.@1 That's just your way of cheering me up. You might begin, @3The quality of the telegram is vulnerable.@1 Or even, @3The spirit of the telegram is virginal.@1 By now I am ravenous. You might begin, @3Nothing's more passionate than a train, Entering an enormous depot, Empty except for two lovers, irreconcilable, Parting.@1 Then, @3No one's more visible than a blind man on the street.@1 Things that are that were never meant to be! Terrible music! The utter confusion of surfaces! The first steps toward probability! You might begin, @3Near the edge of the mind, the mind grows defenseless, Sleepy in the way it sees, Like Columbus on the edge of the world. It feels the grip of all it cannot grasp, Like the blind man trying to stay out of sight.@1 Show me any object, I'll show you rust on a wave. You begin, @3Outside the mind, the snow undresses and lies down.@1 Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALEXANDER CRUMMELL - DEAD by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 55 by ALFRED TENNYSON SONG: 5 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD ONE OF MANY by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR LOOKING IN THE FIRE by ADA CAMBRIDGE A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 14 by THOMAS CAMPION TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. TO BECOME A CREATOR by EDWARD CARPENTER |