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.