" Are the angels of her bed the angels
who come near me alone in mine?
Are the green trees in her window
the color is see in ripe plums?
If she always sees backward
and upside down without knowing it
what chance do we have? I am haunted
by the feeling that she is saying
melting lords of death, avalanches,
rivers and moments of passing through,
And I am replying, "Yes, yes.
Shoes and pudding. "

― Jack Gilbert