dig

as if it were a scene made-up by the mind, 
that is not mine, but is a made place,

that is mine, it is so near to the heart, 
an eternal pasture folded in all thought

Robert Duncan, Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow

“The word “poet” derives from the ancient Greek ??????? (poietes) which translates simply enough as “a maker.” The word ???? (phren) can be translated as either “heart” or “mind.” The ancient Greeks thought the heart might be filled with the phantasms of all that we love, a kind of breath or pneuma, in Greek, that moves through the senses and embeds the image in the heart—a kind of pasture where we learn to think, learn to feel. We can imagine the poem as a fold in that eternal, internal pasture—a place that voice forms.”
Dan Beachy-Quick in Poetry.

Kendrick Lamar, wacced out murals