I work silently, wheeling over myself,
like the crow over death, the crow in mourning.
I think, isolated in the expanse of the seasons,
central, surrounded by silent geography:
a partial temperature falls from the sky,
an ultimate empire of confused unities
gathers surrounding me.
- from the poem ‘Unity,’ Pablo Neruda, Residence on Earth
… It was not the bell
he was trying to find, but the angel
lost in our bodies. The music that thinking is.
He wanted to know what he heard, not to get closer.
- from the poem ‘Haunted Importantly’ by Jack Gilbert