Poetry is in everything, everywhere, say those who, basically, are incapable of identifying where it actually is. But it is perfectly obvious that it is instead an absence, a lack in the human heart or more precisely what the poet has the gift of putting in place of this absence, of this lack. Real poetry is only where this void—which utterly cannot be filled by any other activity or real matter of life—has been filled.

https://pensum.ca/2011/08/306/