Distant friends laugh, dust blows, wine pours: they call me. <br />Such sounds fall from me like the blue of my cloak; <br /> <br />I am only what is present: <br />A pillar under my elbow, a hand under my chin, a paper fallen to the ground. <br /> <br />I am only what is furthest: <br />Other eyes dancing, a mind thinking, a pen writing. <br /> <br />I am only what is within: <br />What the paper has given, its own sun and air.<br /><br />Richard Blanch<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ephebos/
