The first words of this poem are the and first,

and then—words, and that is all there is.


A palm reflecting sunlight toward the cheek.


The ability to laugh at weakness.


To dry a rose in a desk-top vase

day by day by



A clock glimpsed in a dream

or an infant that stirs suddenly in its sleep.


There are no words for sunrise or moonlight or death.

For these, we have just sunrise, moonlight, death.