Poetry

I was in the Museum of Contemporary Art the other day and there was a piece (I don't remember what it was now) that quoted the line 'the internal difference, where the Meanings lie'. I was sure I recognised it from a poem, but wasn't sure what the poem was until I looked it up. Turns out it's by Emily Dickinson, and though I can't remember where or when I read it, it feels as if I must have read it at a very impressionable age, because it resonates with me in an odd way. I'm not great with poetry - most of it goes over my head and I'd have a very hard time explaining what it means - but I wanted to share this one.

There's a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons --
That oppresses, like the Heft
Of Cathedral Tunes --

Heavenly Hurt, it gives us --
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are --

None may teach it -- Any --
'Tis the Seal Despair --
An imperial affliction
Sent us of the Air --

When it comes, the Landscape listens --
Shadows -- hold their breath --
When it goes, 'tis like the Distance
On the look of Death --