Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

think themselves into existence
and know themselves too good
for words:
dippers,
plough.

The trouble comes at picnics –
the last to leave, lovers lying
head to head, sky-faced,

naming the unnameable with eyes
closed – flickerings – the unknown
knowing the unknowable. After a while,

it becomes difficult to separate
what about them moves the most –
the bright intangibility of something

that’s no longer there from the utter
absence that beckons in between –
the echoed darkness or the dark

unechoing. ‘Look’, she says,
pointing to neither,
‘how cold is that?’