We live the strangeness of being momentary, and still we are exalted by being temporary. […] It is the fact of being brief, being small and slight that is the source of our beauty. We are a singularity that makes music out of noise because we must hurry. We make a harvest of loneliness and desiring in the blank wasteland of cosmos.
Jack Gilbert, from “The Manger of Incidentals,” Refusing Heaven: Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 2005)






















