all of us know he means we mustn't, any of us, lose touch with the source, pretend it's not there, cover over the mineshaft of passion - Denise Levertov

"The yellow moon dreamily
tipping buttons of light
down among the leaves. Marimba,
marimba - from beyond the
black street.
Somebody dancing,
somebody
getting the hell
outta here. Shadows of cats
weave round the treetrunks,
the exposed knotty roots.

("Scenes from the Life of the Peppertrees")"

Hugh Kenner, in a lecture, beautifully defined what poets seek if they really are poets) as “the power to make things as moving as the things they have been moved by.

By dawn he was gone. We have stood here since, in our new life. We have waited. He does not return.