So Little

I said so little.

Days were short.

Short days.

Short nights.

Short years.

I said so little.

I couldn’t keep up.

My heart grew weary

From joy,

Despair,

Ardor,

Hope.

The jaws of Leviathan

Were closing upon me.

Naked, I lay on the shores

Of desert islands.

The white whale of the world

Hauled me down to its pit.

And now I don’t know

What in all that was real.

Czeslaw Milosz

(Picture: Crepuscule in opal trouville, James McNeill Whistler)