Call down the world to the world of the world,
Suspend all the harmonies of Heaven.
Listen in the snowfall for the Earth’s first
Cooling, for its scent in the chocolate air
As the first snow still falls … Is this,
Then, poetry? Always Apollo asked,
Absent of relation to its own mean?
See the world as a problem to be solved.
See the world as a problem to be loved.
Make it again, until you get it right,
So that the first voice sounds like the last voice.