One ear to the struggle, the other ear already deaf from listening too much. Poetry is the common tongue as it appears in dreams. We do not hear it, but feel it. Language is the finding of the Verb. There is no Noun in Language.
Language is the source of motion, which enters and emerges from the Void all at once.
Beginning with the listener, the word, and finally the silence. It rouses the dead spirits, even to only make them fussy. Great poetry is great in the fact, the originator, the speaking poet can heal or shrink the void, force it to yield its solid inanimate structure to waver and conceive motion. Often the Void moves to defend itself, which awakens the listener to their personal Void. Once the listener realizes that their Void must defend itself, we begin to doubt our earlier names and properties for it.