Wandering Thought # 20

To truly read a poem is to be ridden with the uncanny sense that in some ambiguous place, inside, outside, something is happening, a hidden force is at work, shifting, as it were, transposing masses of matter or energy. To read a poem is to enter a docile shock, to spin with the stars as, one by one, they fall doused over the surface of the endless desert until, after a while, nothing remains but the endless, ineffable silence. It is only then, perhaps, that the poem finally unveils her face. But what we see leaves us tongue-tied, and when we awaken the poem is once more in the arms of eternity.

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