I am food on the prisoner's plate

August 19: bosky

I could swear that 'bosky' was a euphemism for 'drunk', but it apparently means something like 'woodsy.'

August 20: pulchritude

As much as I appreciate his ability to troubleshoot technology issues, my friend's pulchritude is a decided plus.

---

I am the blossom pressed in a book,
found again after two hundred years. . . .

I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper. . . .

When the young girl who starves
sits down to a table
she will sit beside me. . . .

I am food on the prisoner's plate. . . .

I am water rushing to the wellhead,
filling the pitcher until it spills. . . .

I am the patient gardener
of the dry and weedy garden. . . .

I am the stone step,
the latch, and the working hinge. . . .

I am the heart contracted by joy. . .
the longest hair, white
before the rest. . . .

I am there in the basket of fruit
presented to the widow. . . .

I am the musk rose opening
unattended, the fern on the boggy summit. . . .

I am the one whose love
overcomes you, already with you
when you think to call my name. . . .

[Jane Kenyon, 'Briefly it Enters, and Briefly Speaks']