I like to find <br />what's not found <br />at once, but lies <br /> <br />within something of another nature, <br />in repose, distinct. <br />Gull feathers of glass, hidden <br /> <br />in white pulp: the bones of squid <br />which I pull out and lay <br />blade by blade on the draining board-- <br /> <br />tapered as if for swiftness, to pierce <br />the heart, but fragile, substance <br />belying design. Or a fruit, mamey, <br /> <br />cased in rough brown peel, the flesh <br />rose-amber, and the seed: <br />the seed a stone of wood, carved and <br /> <br />polished, walnut-colored, formed <br />like a brazilnut, but large, <br />large enough to fill <br />the hungry palm of a hand. <br /> <br />I like the juicy stem of grass that grows <br />within the coarser leaf folded round, <br />and the butteryellow glow <br /> <br />in the narrow flute from which the morning-glory <br />opens blue and cool on a hot morning.<br /><br />Denise Levertov<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pleasures/
