I remember the morning I closed the lid
on memory and turned the handle.
Locking it away forever.
Nobody knows what happened to me
out here, sea. Only you and I know.
At night, clouds form in front of the moon.
By morning they’re gone. And that sweet light
I spoke of? That’s gone too.
—Raymond Carver, closing lines to “Sweet Light,” All of Us; The Collected Poems (Alfred A. Knopf, 1998)
I suppose one could say that I live in words, that words matter. But the point about words is that words always want to reach the place where words are not necessary. The praise beyond applause; the place beyond words: a time before language when the word for love had not been conceived. As if you can speak without words. That’s the point too: silence speaks.