I'm writing a paper on Denise Levertov. And I found this.
I had grasped God's garment in the void
but my hand slipped
on the rich silk of it.
The 'everlasting arms' my sister loved to remember
must have upheld my leaden weight
from falling, even so,
for though I claw at empty air and feel
nothing, no embrace,
I have not plummeted.
1 comment:
Picture me sitting at my desk, eyes riveted on the screen, mouth half-open. This poem has found me.
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