Right now, I'm very, very slowly reading The Shadow of Sirius by W. S. Merwin. Though the poems are short and can be read through quickly, a glacial pace is recommended. At least, that's what seems to be working for me.
If we could fly would there be numbers
apart from the seasons
in sleep I was flying south
so it was autumn
numberless autumn with its leaves
already far below me
some were falling into
the river of day
the invisible surface
that remembers and whispers
but does not tell even in sleep
not this timeW. S. Merwin
I just keep mulling this poem over and over in my mind, a grit of sand and a pearl all at once. I will no doubt be reporting back at other things found in this collection.
The next poem in the collection I Hear My Gate Slam, that I talked about previously, has a sort of lyrical segue with the Merwin poem, so I'll just end with that one rather than the handful more I had intended to finish with.
River rising, cold and deep.
Autumn rain darkens the heavens.
You ask about the Chungnan Moutains —
look in your heart behind the billowing clouds!