ars poetica

I long for the imperishable quiet at the heart of form;
I would be a stream, winding between great striated rocks in late summer;
A leaf, I would love the leaves, delighting in the redolent disorder of
          this mortal life,
This ambush, this silence,
Where shadow can change into flame,
And the dark be forgotten.
Theodore Roethke, from section 3 of “The Longing,” The Far Field