How strong is the beauty that calls to you?
Does anybody hold it always as a guide–or
is it the search that is required of us? Is there
rest in beauty? Or does the best of what we may
know require battering waves? Times we have loved
brought to ruin, and new times asking: How will I
rise to take my punishment, so that love
will again name itself the only path?
We turn to the dark for an end;
we walk out of it by knowing we have loved.