From the tawny light
from the rainy nights
from the imagination finding
itself and more than itself
alone and more than alone
at the bottom of the well where the moon lives,
can you pull me
into December? a lowland
of space, perception of space
towering of shadows of clouds blown upon
clouds over
… … … . new ground, new made
under heavy December footsteps? the only
way to live?
The flawed moon
acts on the truth, and makes
an autumn of tentative
silences.
You lived, but somewhere else,
your presence touched others, ring upon ring,
and changed. Did you think
I would not change?
… … … … … . The black moon
turns away, its work done. A tenderness,
unspoken autumn.
We are faithful
only to the imagination. What the
imagination
… … . seizes
as beauty must be truth. What holds you
to what you see of me is
that grasp alone.
- Denise Levertov
Collected Earlier Poems 1940-1960
wood s lot
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3 comments:
Your posts are hauntingly beautiful. Deep. And the music is perfect. Thank you for creating such an amazing world with your work.
(I was so moved by this that I forgot to check my spelling!)
as always, elegant and pure -- truly loved that phrase "pulled into December" -- ah, yes!
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