Li Po wrote so many poems about the moon, the yin, the mother. He drowned trying to embrace it, her. And the very next moment her spirit would embrace his.

For me, health gushes from a thousand springs;
Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise;
My foot-stool earth, my canopy the skies.

So many styles of poetry. So what!

All that really matters for us is that each leads us to feel that its origin was in the Spirit World: that the poet so Inspired has rendered it as his Aspiration.

The last line of probably the last poem of Su Tung-p'o (1037-1101), knowing he was soon to die:

“Beyond treetops I see the slant of a bridge.”

Every act of Creativity
is a breath cycle metaphor
of Inspiration and Aspiration.

Aspiration:
the song of my heart
leaving my heart.

This rock has come
from the magma,
our planet's heart's core.
And it has memory.