Nothing against the steady pull of things over the edge.
Nobody can stop the flow, but nobody can start it either.
Time slips by; our sorrows do not turn into poems,
And what is invisible stays that way. Desire has fled,
Leaving only a trace of perfume in its wake,
And so many people we loved have gone,
And no voice comes from outer space, from the folds
Of dust and carpets of wind to tell us that this
Is the way it was meant to happen, that if only we knew
How long the ruins would last we would never complain.
Life should be more
Than the body's weight working itself from room to room.
It could have been another story, the one that was meant
Instead of the one that happened. Living like this,
Hoping to revise what has been false or rendered unreadable
Is not what we wanted.
Actually...this excerpt-ing of lines that vibe with me does not do justice to this beautiful poem. Do read it in its entirety here.
Need to read the much-lauded villanelles from the same book- "The Philosopher's Conquest" and "The Disquieting Muses"; poems that were inspired by works by the Italian surrealist painter Giorgio de Chirico. (Also this article which probes further the parallels between painting and poetry.)
In the meantime, here is a NYT review of the book, an interview and an audio interview with the poet, and some more of his beautiful writing.