A way of happening, a mouth. The fact that poetry has no justification is a sore trouble to many people and is why it is so often asked to be something else. It can matter only on its own terms, which are radically without use. If it incorporates the terms of other agendas, they must be secondary to the imperatives of the poetic. Poetry requires the courage to believe in nothing except the infinite possibilities of the poetic.
All poetry depends from the impossible.
Love is presence attending to the present. Poetry is a confession of love's absence, where the self is nourished by its own effacement. Yet poetry, if it does not recall something like faith in our broken language, is not poetry at all. For us, as Eliot said, there is only the trying. Selected Poems, Guiseppe Ungaretti, trans.