So painfully beautiful this sentence, I can’t read it without my heart hurting. Unbelievably beautiful.

The wind was in another country, and

the day had gathered to its heart of noon

the sum of silence, heat, and stricken time.

R. P. Blackmur Mirage

The wind was in another country, and

the day had gathered to its heart of noon

the sum of silence, heat, and stricken time.

Not a ripple spread. The sea mirrored

perfectly all the nothing in the sky.

We had to walk about to keep our eyes

from seeing nothing, and our hearts from stopping

at nothing. Then most suddenly we saw

horizon on horizon lifting up

out of the sea’s edge a shining mountain

sun-yellow and sea-green; against it surf

flung spray and spume into the miles of sky.

Somebody said mirage, and it was gone,

but there I have been living ever since.