I preferred the fleeting,
Like a memory of a sip of wine
Of a noble vintage
On the tongue with eyes closed …
When you tapped me on the shoulder.
O light, unsayable in your splendor.
A lot of good you did to me.
You just made my insomnia last longer.
I sat rapt at the spectacle,
Secretly rueing the fugitive:
All its provisory, short-lived
Kisses and enchantments.
Here with the new day breaking,
And a single scarecrow on the horizon
Directing the traffic
Of crows and their shadows.
—Charles Simic, “My Quarrel with the Infinite”
Photography Credit Will Adler