Two poets and a plain and simple thought about reality: each approaching it in such a different way. Do you see it?

First, US poet Louis Jenkins with his prose poem "Why," circling the question with an honest tenderness:

Why

I ask myself. Because when you finally need to go home this is the only place to go. And when you get there there's nothing; just a blank page. Well, maybe there's a patch of dry ground, underneath an old cottonwood tree, a bit of sun, a crow in the next field. You can add things or take them away. Youth was the age of acquisition. Now you find that there aren't many things you need, but the garage and attic are still full. I'm OK with the dirt and the cottonwood tree. It's not the bodhi tree, but my expectations are not high. The oceans are deep and dark and the briny water goes on for thousands of mile, but you only need a cupful or so to drown in.

...and then Norwegian poet Olav Hauge, getting right to the point:

Don't Give Me the Whole Truth

Don’t give me the whole truth,
don’t give me the sea for my thirst,
don’t give me the sky when I ask for light,
but give me a glint, a dewy wisp, a mote
as the birds bear water-drops from their bathing
and the wind a grain of salt.