The Language of the Landscape

I discovered this poem some time ago and I keep returning to it. It's one of those voices that resonate long after the engagement with the work.

From March '79

Tired of all who came
with words, words but no language,
I went to the snow-covered island.
The wild does not have words.
The unwritten pages spread themselves
out in all directions!
I come across the marks
of roe deer's hooves in the snow.
Language but no words.

(Tomas Transtromer)