I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me. - Sylvia Plath, The Collected Poems

"Although, I admit, I desire,Occasionally, some backtalkFrom the mute sky, I can't honestly complain:A certain minor light may stillLean incandescentOut of kitchen table or chairAs if a celestial burning tookPossession of the most obtuse objects now and then --"

"I lean to you, numb as a fossil. Tell me I'm here."