Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the gray feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
—Adam Zagajewski, from “Try to Praise the Mutilated World,” Without End: New and Selected Poems. (Straus & Giroux, LLC, 2002)