This is what endures: A heartbeat.

This is what endures: a place, a circle, a gathering to which I belong, which would not be this gathering without me, without each of us, without all the infinite, minute causes that come to body here. There is always a reason enough. This is what endures.

This is what endures even though I neglect it, devalue it, dismiss it, fear it, what I steel/harden/shell myself against to prove I can live without.

This is what endures - joy and ecstasy and daring to drink it in. This is not to be resisted. This is what endures - to be found.

And if it's out there I can bring it in, and if it's inside, I can damn well let it out.

This is what endures and will endure.

                                              Unpublished poem - Helen Douglas