IF LIFE HAS A BASE
THAT IT STANDS UPON,
IF IT IS A BOWL
THAT ONE FILLS AND FILLS AND FILLS –
THEN MY BOWL WITHOUT A DOUBT
STANDS UPON THIS MEMORY.

IT IS OF LYING HALF ASLEEP, HALF AWAKE,
IN BED IN THE NURSERY AT ST IVES.
IT IS OF HEARING THE WAVES BREAKING,
ONE, TWO, ONE, TWO,
AND SENDING A SPLASH OF WATER
OVER THE BEACH;
AND THE BREAKING,
ONE, TWO, ONE, TWO
BEHIND A YELLOW BLIND.

IT IS OF HEARING THE BLIND DRAW
ITS LITTLE ACORN ACROSS THE FLOOR
AS THE WIND BLEW THE BLIND OUT.
IT IS OF LYING AND HEARING THIS SPLASH
AND SEEING THIS LIGHT,
AND FEELING,
IT IS ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE
THAT I SHOULD BE HERE
OF FEELING THE PUREST ECSTASY
I CAN CONCEIVE.

TO THE LIGHTHOUSE BY VIRGINIA WOOLF (1939)

SOMEWHERE