The recently passed Tomas Tranströmer, I love his writing. He can go from personal headspace to outer space in a cherry blossom in a moment during a car crash:

--

  After a Death 
  (translated by Robert Bly)

  Once there was a shock
  that left behind a long, shimmering comet tail.
  It keeps us inside. It makes the TV pictures snowy.
  It settles in cold drops on the telephone wires.

  One can still go slowly on skis in the winter sun
  through brush where a few leaves hang on.
  They resemble pages torn from old telephone directories.
  Names swallowed by the cold.

  It is still beautiful to hear the heart beat
  but often the shadow seems more real than the body.
  The samurai looks insignificant
  beside his armor of black dragon scales.