I would be brief

I would be brief on the day I didn’t have a lot to say or, really, had a lot to say but wanted to make the thoughts in my head all compact the way a wintertime child can take a puff of snow and squeeze it into a ball of ice, to make it all hard and small.

I would have beautiful languages in my head — would and do; I do, yes. But also sometimes there can be things I might say but I don’t say because saying them would be dangerous or bad or make my eyes all prickled with tears. So what happens with those words, when they stay only in the meat of my brain and never go in the world at all? It’s really a good question.

Language
W.S. Merwin

Certain words now in our knowledge we will not use again, and we will never forget them. We need them. Like the back of the picture. Like our marrow, and the color in our veins. We shine the lantern of our sleep on them, to make sure, and there they are, trembling already for the day of witness. They will be buried with us, and rise with the rest.