Fresh off the brain this morning:

 

Poetry is a dance with fans that scarcely covers your nakedness.
Poetry is an inverted dance, spinning on the top of your head.
Poetry is a one-legged dance, balancing on the end of a peg.
Poetry is a dance of wholeness, never fragments of movement.
Poetry is a tumbling dance, made up as you go.
Poetry is an evasive dance, never long pinned down in one spot.

 

 

 

 

*The Windhover, Gerard Manley Hopkins.