"Nature."
"Do we need time to vanish and reappear like childhood
religious music?"
It's stirring, isn't it?
"But not for us, as Fortinbras says to Hamlet when he's dead,
to greet each other or bid farewell.
Where spooked horses refuse chase,
we have only brute memory.
Without a wishing well, we are like gypsies
with pink mandolins.
Against oblivion, we are gypsies with yellow wrist
bells, a melting piccolo, and a melting piano."