“Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks” by Jane Kenyon

I am the blossom pressed in a book,

found again after two hundred years. . . .

xxxxx

I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper….

xxx

When the young girl who starves

sits down to a table

she will sit beside me. . . .

xxx

I am food on the prisoner’s plate. . . .

xxx

I am water rushing to the wellhead,

filling the pitcher until it spills. . . .

xxx

I am the patient gardener

of the dry and weedy garden. . . .

xxx

I am the stone step,

the latch, and the working hinge. . . .

xxx

I am the heart contracted by joy. . . .

xxx

the longest hair, white

before the rest. . . .

xxx

I am there in the basket of fruit

presented to the widow. . . .

xxx

I am the musk rose opening

unattended, the fern on the boggy summit. . . .

xxx

I am the one whose love

overcomes you, already with you

when you think to call my name. . . .

xxx

“Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks” by Jane Kenyon from Collected Poems. Copyright © 2005 by the Estate of Jane Kenyon, Graywolf Press  (www.graywolfpress.org.)