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.