If I had known what trouble you were bearing;
What griefs were in the silence of your face;
I would have been more gentle, and more caring,
If I had known what trouble you were bearing;
What griefs were in the silence of your face;
I would have been more gentle, and more caring,
The wind is cool. Nothing is happening.
I do not strive for meaning. When I lie on my back
the wind passes over me, I do not feel it.
On a soft pillow
I will lay down my limbs
If I describe my house
I may at last describe my self
but I will surely lie
about the house.
I felt a clearing in my mind
As if my brain had split;
I tried to match it, seam by seam,
But could not make them fit.
The thought behind I strove to join
Unto the thought before,
But sequence ravelled out of reach
Like balls upon a floor.
Sky: an eye that never blinks.
So much pain in me some days
I bend double under its gaze,
each vertebra a stone.
This is what comes of being
too much alone. There's no end
to it here, the sky gives you
all the room you need
to grow small.
A new gasp of further isolation,
A new intoxication of loneliness, among decaying, frost-
cold leaves.
I want
to hang on
she said
The way through the forest
is danced by wild girls with sharp teeth
who throw streams of frantically beating butterflies
into the air.
This is the beauty
of strength
broken by strength
and still strong.