All power is saved, having no end. Rises in the green season, in the sudden season the white the budded and the lost. - Muriel Rukeyser

There is also, in any history, the buried, the wasted, and the lost.

The quick sun brings, exciting mountains warm,
gay on the landscapers and green designs,
miracle, yielding the sex up under all the skin,
until the entire body watches the scene with love,
sees perfect cliffs ranging until the river
cuts sheer, mapped far below in delicate track,
surprise of grace, the water running in the sun,
magnificent flower on the mouth, surprise
as lovers who look too long on the desired face
startled to find the remote flesh so warm.
A day of heat shed on the gorge, a brilliant
day when love sees the sun behind its man
and the disguised marvel under familiar skin.

What three things can never be done?
Forget. Keep silent. Stand alone.
The hill of glass, the fatal brilliant plain.