A little light
As for the darkness of eternity
a little light by your bed
might doas the wind
flings itself against your wall
weathering all away
while you
wandering the dunes of your dreams
with the sea in your ear
and the dead stars in your eyes
treado so softly through the night
or lie awakewith the flickering forms
of your sleepless mind
a beckoning hand here a bending figure
therea breath
breathing ice to your fire
a shadowdeepening into day
darkening alla little light
beside your bed
might do
to keep away
Si-ghting 53
Staring thereup through the trees
on your ownprone as ever
deep in the leaves
to your own idle thoughts
idling there
then drifting upand on
into the empty sky
light and airyas the autumn air
as white and pale
as the waystill to be traced
from the space of mind
to the intricate page
assembling thereas the tree thins
your own thoughtsidling still
deeper in the dying leaves
Letter—for Fernando Pessoa
From his seat in the corner there
his eyeopen
to the rings and random drops
he writes
from where I ama world away
the waiting pagethe tearful
trembling white his anxious wrist
rests upon
the slant of pen
as the troubled words wander
from left to right
a moment held
a moment crawling on
creeping
into place
line by measured line
measuring
the space
from pause to pause
from stain to stain
he writes
and Ifrom where I am
in the corner here
the table bare
I toobefore I leave
wait to receive