Denise Levertov

A Doorkey for Cordova

    …And light made of itself an amber
transparency one sundown, restoring
Moorish atavistic imprints almost
to memory, patterns tight-closed
eyes used to make in childhood when
the greenish thick woven cotton tablecloth,
frayed and become an ironing sheet, linked itself somehow
to a September casbah imagined
before any casbah became knowledge…