Let Evening Come: No. 2, Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks

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...