All that we do is touched with ocean, and yet we remain on the shore of what we know - Richard Wilbur

O connoisseurs of thirst, Beasts of my soul who long to learn to drink Of pure mirage, those prosperous islands are accurst That shimmer on the brink Of absence; auras, lustres, And all shinings need to be shaped and borne.

The beacon-blaze unsheathing turns The face of darkness pale And now with one grand chop gives clearance to Our human visions . . .

Limitation makes for power. The strength of the genie comes of his being confined in a bottle.