An absolute


Trees stand

up to their knees in

fog. The fog

slowly flows



cobwebs, the grass

leaning where deer

have looked for apples.

The woods

from brook to where

the top of the hill looks

over the fog, send up

not one bird.

So absolute, it is

no other than

happiness itself, a breathing

too quiet to hear.


Denise Levertov, The Breathing

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