Concision

is what poets do.  If a book is living another life, then a poem is living a brief moment of another life.  By being concise, poets are forced through their art to select the most precise words and ways in which to express an idea, leaving room for the reader to interpret and examine the idea for themselves.  Look for it here:
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"Just This" by W.S. Merwin

Lunar by S.M.(M).L.

Awake to moonshine
brilliantly superb as she
wanes into morning.
Here she is, a guide
for humanity, explode
from Earth, composed of
this same stuff. We look
on her face, seem to
never turn away, except 
when she is in solitude.
She must go there to
get away, blamed for
cycles and lunacy, but
probably reality.
Inching away, she 
weathers anything
stillness, a bowl of fire,
or a mirror, no matter.
However we perceive her
we dance, a partner
swung round our dizzying
existence, wax, wane
until we burn ourselves out.