What is green in me <br />darkens, muscadine. <br />If woman is inconstant, <br />good, I am faithful to <br />ebb and flow, I fall <br />in season and now <br />is a time of ripening. <br />If her part <br />is to be true, <br />a north star, <br />good, I hold steady <br />in the black sky <br />and vanish by day, <br />yet burn there <br />in blue or above <br />quilts of cloud. <br />There is no savor <br />more sweet, more salt <br />than to be glad to be <br />what, woman, <br />and who, myself, <br />I am, a shadow <br />that grows longer as the sun <br />moves, drawn out <br />on a thread of wonder. <br />If I bear burdens <br />they begin to be remembered <br />as gifts, goods, a basket <br />of bread that hurts <br />my shoulders but closes me <br />in fragrance. I can <br />eat as I go.<br /><br />Denise Levertov<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stepping-westward/
