The Well

Dreamed ca. 1960 by Denise Levertov

The Muse     in her dark habit, trim-waisted     wades into deep water. The spring where she     will fill her pitcher to the brim wells out     below the lake's surface, among papyrus, where a stream     enters the lake and is crossed by the bridge on which I stand. She stoops     to gently dip and deep enough. Her face resembles     the face of the young actress who played Miss Annie Sullivan, she who     spelled the word 'water' into the palm of Helen Keller, opening     the doors of the world.

In the baroque park,     transformed as I neared the water     to Valentines, a place of origin, I stand on a bridge of one span and see this calm act, this gathering up     of life, of spring water and the Muse gliding then     in her barge without sails, without oars or motor, across     the dark lake, and I know no interpretation of these mysteries     although I know she is the Muse and that the humble     tributary of Roding is one with Alpheus, the god who as a river     flowed through the salt sea to his love's well so that my heart leaps     in wonder. Cold, fresh, deep, I feel the word 'water'     spelled in my left palm.