No Names
by Kay Ryan
There are high places
that don't invite us,
sharp sharps, glacier-
scraped faces, whole
ranges whose given names
slip off. Any such relation
as we try to make
refuses to take. Some
high lakes are not for us,
some slick escarpments.
I'm giddy with thinking
where thinking can't stick.
.
.
Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars.........
.
.
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