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 wellhead,
filling the pitcher until it spills ....

I am the patient gardener
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 ....