The moment of a miracle is unending lightning.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.

Friend, my enemy, I call you out. You, you, you there with a bad thorn in your side. You there, my friend, with a winning air. Who pawned the lie on me when he looked brassly at my shyest secret. With my whole heart under your hammer. That though I loved him for his faults as much as for his good. My friend were an enemy upon stilts with his head in a cunning cloud. -Dylan Thomas

To begin at the beginning: It is a spring moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black.

Never be lucid, never state, if you would be regarded great.

Dark is a way and light is a place, Heaven that never was Nor will be ever is always true "Poem on His Birthday

The best poem is that whose worked-upon unmagical passages come closest, in texture and intensity, to those moments of magical accident.