(Image taken from here)

I walk along the bank
of Tumble Creek,

No, I really
should be honest.
I’m just wandering about,

stopping to look
at whatever interests me—
which can be

meditation, especially
if one’s heart
rests in the chest

heavy, round, settled,
like a pumpkin
in a silent field.

Denise Levertov: Intimation

Denise Levertov
I am impatient with these branches, this light.
The sky, however blue, intrudes.
Because I’ve begun to see
there is something else I must do,
I can’t quite catch the rhythm
of days I moved well to in other winters.
The steeple tree
was cut down, the one that daybreak
used to guild–that fervor of birds and cherubim
subdued. Drought has dulled
many a green blade.
I know a different need has begun
to cast its line out from me into
a place unknown, I reach
for a silence almost present,
elusive among my heartbeats.


My apologies to all those who read the first posting of this–I accidentally left out a line which has since been edited back in. I am usually very careful with others’ poetry, and it was not my intention to disrupt the meaning or flow of this excellent poem.