Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks – Jane Kenyon
I am the blossom pressed in a book,
Found again after two hundred years…
I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper….
When the young girl who starves
Sits down to a table
She will sit beside me…
I am food on the prisoner’s plate…
I am water rushing to the well-head,
Filling the pitcher until it spills…
I am the patient gardner
Of the dry and weedy garden…
I am the stone step
The latch, and the working hinge….
I am the heart contracted by joy…
The longest hair, white
Before the rest…
I am there in the basket of fruit
Presented to the widow…
I am the musk rose opening
Unattended, the fern on the boggy summit…
I am the one whose love
Overcomes you, already with you
When you think to call my name…
The Journey... 
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