I like to find what's not found at once, but lies within something of another nature, in repose, distinct. - Denise Levertov

There's in my mind a...
turbulent moon-ridden girl

or old woman, or both,
dressed in opals and rags, feathers

and torn taffeta,
who knows strange songs

but she is not kind.

When he opens his eyes he gives to what he gazes at the recognition no look ever before granted it. It becomes a word.

"Turn from that road's beguiling ease; return
to your hunger's turret. Enter, climb the stair
chill with disuse, where the croaking toad of time
regards from shimmering eyes your slow ascent
and the drip, drip, of darkness glimmers on the stone
to show you how your longing waits alone.
What alchemy shines from under that shut door,
spinning out gold from the hollow of the heart?

("The Sea's Wash In The Hollow Of The Heart")"