Joe Latta's Scratched memento from Tom Clark reminded me of this adolescent Osip Mandelstam effusion (trans. by James Greene):
What shall I do with the body I've been given,
So much at one with me, so much my own?
For the quiet happiness of breathing, being able
To be alive, tell me to whom I should be grateful?
I am gardener, flower too, and not alone
In the world's dungeon.
My warmth, my exhalation, one can already see
On the window-pane of eternity.
The pattern printed in my breathing here
Has not been seen before.
Let the moment's condensation vanish without trace:
The cherished pattern no one can efface.
(Later I'll try translating this myself. I'm curious to see the original.)