For days
like this, sepia
shades
a good coat
impermeable to the cold of this world, of a capaciousness to house that
which can only be named one's absolute and indivisible (unbeholdable
in its minuteness and hugeness) nonentity, before it is at last
unveiled
In my forty-eighth year, on the thirteenth day of the second month, as I
was wandering among the exiles along the river Charles under general
anesthesia, a small gray cross smudged on my forehead, the heavens
were opened, like a book, like an apple cut in half, and I saw I don't
remember what
Blizzard permitting
her ship should appear
about four in the morning
like a poet's
lonely fame.
---Franz Wright
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