This is from my all-time favorite book of poetry, ‘Reservations’ by James Richardson. I’ll share two stanzas from ‘The Tracks’ that have always left me breathless with sheer awe at how well he writes.

And it is hard even to imagine
the neighbors in a bath of light
playing small cards
their windows in precipitous lines

downhill to where the silence leans
like blocks of onyx quarried
from the white moon,
tomorrow already in ruins.