Yet Words Are Not The End of Thought, They Are Where It Begins

Jane Hirshfield's "After Long Silence":

"Politeness fades,

a small anchovy gleam
leaving the upturned pot in the dish rack
after the moon has wandered out of the window.

One of the late fredoms, there in the dark.
The leftover soup put away as well.

Distinctions matter. Whether a goat's
quiet face should be called noble
or indifferent. The difference between a right rigor and pride.

The untranslatable thought must be the most precise.

Yet words are not the end of thought, they are where it begins."

(Jane Hirshfield, After: Poems).