Who has not felt unease at home abroad outside, a wild haven waiting in scorching sand, And seen all this -- heaven in the bending of larches, Twitch-pitchy pines and palmettos dancing; Twelve and a half candles burning into the sun -- and not realized that this is an insane adieu. We are like fire when language takes us. Soft stanzas haunt our bones. Arriving newer than stars, we sound like nothing but the wind.