This article from The Atlantic came up in "On This Day" from 2014 on Facebook. The poem described in the article quickly became memorable, and I'm reminded of the need to revisit James Wright's beautiful words:
Over my head, I see the bronze butterfly,
Asleep on the black trunk, Blowing like a leaf in green shadow.
Down the ravine behind the empty house,
The cowbells follow one another
Into the distances of the afternoon.
To my right, In a field of sunlight between two pines,
The droppings of last year’s horses
Blaze up into golden stones. I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home. I have wasted my life.