She must have chosen me before I knew Her, Or maybe, forgetting, I chose Her. Silent, She's kept Her peace, Though I have risen and fallen, Walked through dark places holding hands with demons - - often - forgetting who I am. She observes with deeper eyes than mine. She sees it all, Sees clearly, with a wise heart. She speaks, Sometimes in words, sometimes in silence, She speaks to me. One day, alone and afraid, I said: "Yes," And we walked hand in hand. We didn't part again (although I sometimes forgot Her for long stretches). She is placid, clear, deep, and full. When I am angry, shaking a hot fist at the world, She is placid, clear, deep, and full. She holds me then, with great gentleness. My breath returns, gentle, too. Mary Elyn Bahlert (revised, 3/2021).