It has to be cold
So the breath turns white,

And then mother, who's fast enough
To write his life on it?

_____


This is the last summoning.
Solitude--as in the beginning.

A zero burped by a bigger zero--
It's an awful licking I got.

And fear--that dead letter office.
And doubt--that Chinese shadow play.

Does anyone still say a prayer
Before going to bed?

White sleeplessness.
No one knows its weight.


-Charles Simic, "White"