..."The soul rests its head in its hands & stares out
From its desk at the trash-littered schoolyard,
It stays where it was left.
When the window fills with pain, the soul bears witness,
But it doesn't write. Nor does it write home
Having no need to, having no home.
In this way, & in no other
Was the soul gradually replaced by the tens of thousands
Of things meant to represent it--
All of which proclaimed, or else lamented, its absence."...
by Larry Levis