Sick of those who come with words, words but no language,
I make my way to the snow-covered island.
Wilderness has no words. The unwritten pages
Stretch out in all directions.
I come across this line of deer-slots in the snow: a language,
Language without words.
translated by Robin Robertson
The Deleted World, 2006, Enitharmon Press
What matters is silent. Or is heard, but no words have been used.
The poet melts into a truth. Attempts to freeze it into words but can only do so by finding the language within, that was there before words.
Patterns are created that mirror experience, so that the poem contains an image of something that the poet merged into for a moment.