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| (Oct. 24, 1923-Dec. 20, 1997) |
The spirit that walked upon the face of the waters
walks the meadow of long grass;
green shines to silver where the spirit passes.
Wind from the compass points, sun at meridian,
these are forms the spirit enters,
breath, ruach, light that is witness and by which we witness.
The grasses numberless, bowing and rising, silently
cry hosanna as the spirit
moves them and moves burnishing
over and again upon mountain pastures
a day of spring, a needle's eye
space and time are passing through like a swathe of silk.
--Denise Levertov
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