Poets must live in the world but also outside of it. We are so influenced by our immediate surroundings yet able to transform the ordinary into oddly slanted and surreal visions. Even the rain itself in Paz’s poem is personified, "rising and walking away." Everyday images are conflated and merged, mixed up and re-envisioned. According to Paz, "Poetry is memory become image, and image become voice. The other voice is not the voice from beyond the grave: it is that of man fast asleep in the heart of hearts of mankind. It is a thousand years old and as old as you and I, and it has not yet been born." In essence, as he says in his poem, poetry happens in "another time that is now," and that’s an incredibly difficult place in which to live. How does one balance between the present moment and the past? This reminds me of holding tree pose in yoga. Poems encapsulate what is right in front of us but also a part of our memories. They call on our whole menagerie of obsessions and ideas about the world to sort possible truths.