Preface to the 1970 Edition
That open before me? What I see
>From point to point of meaning뾬pen? closed??BR> From which, thanks to
symmetry,
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
The ordinary, wide scene which begins
No name, no meaning. Oh my friends,
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
Its consciousness of my white consciousness,
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
Silent patch of ultimate paint. You are
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
뾐ow that you notice it뾥ave just moved past
Never does any motion, sound, or light
Is it almost honey, is it snow?
for a few weeks, statistics won't seem
In search of brighter green to come. No way!
Its consciousness of my white consciousness,
Astonished that you have returned to go
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
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