Sunday, May 5, 2013

In the Manner of Cavafy

Approaching the end of the multiplying
Line of somber burnt-out candles lengthening 
Behind him, he recalls their first light before 
Turning ahead to the diminishing 
Row of lively little lit ones waiting, 
All the while quivering himself 
And tries—how hard it must be 
To keep looking firmly ahead—to snuff out 
That still-flickering thought, the one
That will certainly engulf him 
Should he wilt and turn back. 


  1. can't hardly wait to get to the end
    of the poem or painting that I am
    working on

    as every single ending IS the beginning of
    the next piece/poem.

    through Mind thinking
    comes and goes

    (as you have "it" in this piece)...


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