Here in my head, language
keeps making its tiny noises.

How can I hope to be friends
with the hard white stars

whose flaring and hissing are not speech
but a pure radiance?

How can I hope to be friends
with the yawning spaces between them

where nothing, ever, is spoken?

…What can we do
but keep on breathing in and out,

modest and willing, and in our places?

Mary Oliver, Stars