Saturday, November 17, 2012

Saturday commute lxxiii: dissolve, dull stain

Perhaps a single pining mandolin
Throbs where cicadas have quarried
To the heart of all misgiving and there
Scratches on silence like a pet locked in ..

I shall recall nights of squinting rain,

Like pig-iron on the hills: bruised
Landscapes of drumming cloud and everywhere
The lack of someone spreading like a stain.

Lawrence Durrell
The Tree of Idleness
Selected Poems
op. cit.

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