My Quarrel with the Infinite
--Charles Simic 
I preferred the fleeting,
Like a memory of a sip of wine
Of noble vintage
On the tongue with eyes closed... 
When you tapped me on the shoulder,
O light, unsayable in your splendor.
A lot of good you did me.
You just made my insomnia last longer. 
I sat rapt at the spectacle,
Secretly ruing the fugitive:
All its provisory, short-lived
Kisses and enchantments. 
Here with the new day breaking,
And a single scarecrow on the horizon
Directing the traffic
Of crows and their shadows.

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