Pleasures

I like to find   

what's not found   

at once, but lies

within something of another nature,   

in repose, distinct.   

Gull feathers of glass, hidden

in white pulp: the bones of squid   

which I pull out and lay

blade by blade on the draining board—

       tapered as if for swiftness, to pierce   

       the heart, but fragile, substance

       belying design.               Or a fruit, mamey,

cased in rough brown peel, the flesh   

rose-amber, and the seed:

the seed a stone of wood, carved and

polished, walnut-colored, formed   

like a brazilnut, but large,

large enough to fill

the hungry palm of a hand.

I like the juicy stem of grass that grows

within the coarser leaf folded round,

and the butteryellow glow

in the narrow flute from which the morning-glory   

opens blue and cool on a hot morning.

Denise Levertov