I just read the great poet Pablo Neruda’s description of a lifelong inspiration in his poetry. He was playing in the lot behind his house when he found a hole in the fence: “I looked through the hole and saw a landscape like that…
Each morning has stopped being the same Though the dogs don’t pronounce this. It’s something in the sound of the car Responding to my touch, something In the sleep left in my waking bones.
It was not even ten o’clock, And the coyotes called to one another In the cow pasture. I told you About it. I told you because you say You are a werewolf, Your breath hinting of the moon,
Some want to swim To the horizon. Some want to float Near the shore. Waves carry, caress, Batter, prolong, Nourish, destroy.