From An Explanation of America:LAIR Robert Pinsky ? Inexhaustible, delicate, as ifWithout source or medium, daylightUndoes the mind, the infinite, Empty actual is too bright, Scattering to where the roadWhispers, through a mile of woods ... Later, how quiet the house is:Dusk-like and refined, The sweet Phoebe-note Piercing from the trees, The calm globe of the morning, Things to read or to write Ranged on a table, the brainA dark, stubborn current that breathesBlood, a deaf wadding, The hands feeding it paperAnd sensations of wood or metalOn its own terms. Trying to read I persist a while, finish the recognitionBy my breath of a dead giant's breath--Stayed by the space of a rhythm, Witnessing the blue gulf of the air.