You were always a stray and grating
Stiff-necked lot, I am sure of it; graceless,
And nothing loose about your hands.
Great ones at vanishing, some all the time,
Bearing little but grudges; though some
Relieved by violence; each one lost in the end
Without maps, in the niggard unlovely
Waste he had found for himself, sick of it,
Wondering where else there was to go.
—W. S. Merwin, “Nothing New”
Art Credit Jayne Surrena