If you should ask me where I've been all this time I have to say Things happen. I have to dwell on stones darkening the earth, on the river ruined in its own duration: I know nothing save things the birds have lost, the sea I left behind, or my sister crying. Why this abundance of places? Why does day lock with day? Why the dark night swilling round in our mouths? And why the dead? ✨ Pablo Neruda (1990). Selected Poems, p.121, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

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