It is said that of that which we cannot speak
We must remain silent
And yet I say of what I cannot say
That I cannot say it

The tender leaf of tulip tree in spring
The same fragile leaf in fall
How my mother invited me to pour the milk
To make the batter

The peculiar slant of light in morning
To one accustomed to staying up all night
The impressive effect of technical prowess
The emptiness of virtuosity

The great cat’s failure in nine out of ten tries
The earthworm’s continued futile striving
The bewildering plenitude of childhood experience
The bewildering proximity of dogged death