The boat is a boat gliding
down the river whose fragrance
spins us to shady places
under apple trees
and into bedrooms. When
it ties up at shore,
the soul and drifts and returns.
More and more I see
how everything goes together.
There is such grace
in this reconciliation–
even the stomach, that restless
loner, begins to understand.
Surely the body is mind’s
gift to the soul. How else
would the dance of ecstacy begin
except in the muscles, in how
the eyes light on beauty,
and expand it, blue
when it needs blue?
Think how love penetrates
like music, rhythm
overpowering stasis,
as the nerves, the pulse
propel us toward moonlight,
and how the body celebrates
wholeness, its first desire.
Mary Carroll-Hackett: Poetry and Prose 
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