Saturday, June 28, 2014

Familiar dispersals of the day


    Now as the great paunch of this earth
    Allows its punctuation by seeds, some to be
    Trees, some men walking as trees, so the mind
    Offers its cakes of spore to time in them:
    The sumptuary pleasure-givers living on
    In qualities as sure as taste of hair and mouth,
    White partings of the hair like highways,
    Permutations of a rose, buried beneath us now,
    Under the skin of thinking like a gland
    Discharging its obligations in something trivial:
    Say a kiss, a handclasp: say a stone tear.

Lawrence Durrell
The Anecdotes
  xv: In Rhodes, iii
Selected Poems
Peter Porter, editor
op. cit.

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