That title is the first line of the first poem, “The Nomad Flute,” in W.S. Merwin’s new collection The Shadow of Sirius (Copper Canyon, 2009).
I’d intended to dwell with the poem. My later-today time with the “Introduction” of Ecstatic Quotidian was not what I had in mind for appreciating Merwin tonight. But his opening line does provide a good complement to what I’ve done.