The romantic quest is to seek to fully enter the world of which poetry is the liminal awareness, and since this was also to some degree the theme of romantic poetry, the entire project was overdetermined - in hindsight glorious, but predictable from the outset. Liminality here is a certain kind of unearthly light, an inwardly generated light like that in some dreams, but not a light of the mind - the finer light by which the mind's light can be seen. What happens when the poetry is post-romantic? If it is about the presence of the present moment, or about language itself, then what is the liminality that makes it poetry, the adumbration of something other, the other kind of action or energy? You no longer see anything, there may be images but they don't draw your gaze to a farther object, they leave it in place; the frequency has been raised above the range of the subtle senses. Instead there is a peculiar elation, that remains, unanchored, not needing to be anchored, because not in space and a wild energy, so colourless, so silent, as to be easily mistaken for almost anything else.