" Attunement of one's feet to the bald and hairy earth.
Consider the blackbird, perched on a reed, a north wind
blowing, the water torn. Now is the poem's beginning,
even at this late hour in the span of everywhere. Consider
the lovers, with not enough arms for all their need to
embrace. Or, if you prefer, consider the madness of wars,
the impossible weight of oceans. And even if we had been
there, would we have laughed or cried? "

― Robert Kroetsch , Hornbooks of Rita K.