trampe videre inn i neste morgen

                                                       he felt his mind
Clutch that clear form, as a man climbing a precipice
Clutches a horn of hard rock, “This will not flow
Out of my hand." He found himself for a lightning
               moment
Outside the flux and whirl of things, observing the world
From a fixed point. He saw the small spinning planet,
Spotted with white at the poles and dull red wars
Branding both cheeks, and the sun and the other stars like
                herds of wild horses
On the vast field, 

Fra diktsamlingen Be angry at the sun av Robinson Jeffers.