Sunday, May 4, 2014

Circle Drawn in Water by Franz Wright

Circle Drawn in Water

I think somewhere there is a room
in which I am living
an old man

in the future,
in a windy
room where I'm sitting and reading

trying to make out
bent over a three-legged table

these words I'm now writing—

in what will then be
passing for the present,

trying to read to remember
the room
the light the time of day
when I first set them down

What a pile of shit, I'll say

and What was her name
What the hell
was her name

I will slowly get up then
and walk to the window, this time

this place dear to me

even in the muteness

the absolute unsayableness
of the simplest thing in pain
the way it was, exactly
as it was
when I began

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