The stars go out one by one
as though a bluetit the size of the world
were pecking them like peanuts out of the sky's string bag,
A ludicrous image, I know.
Take away the gray light.
I want the bronze shields of summer
or winter's scalding sleet.
My mind is struggling with itself.
That fishing boat is a secret
approaching me. It's a secret
coming out of another one.
I want to know the first one of all.
Everything's in the distance,
as I am. I wish I could flip that distance
like a cigarette into the water.
I want an extreme nearness.
I want boundaries on my mind.
I want to feel the world like a straitjacket.
Norman MacCaig - Collected Poems (1990)
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