Tuesday, 22 July 2014

Mary Oliver

I thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
I slept as never
before, a stone on the river bed,
nothing between me and the white fire of
the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths
among the
branches of the perfect trees.
All night I heard the small
breathing around me, the insects,
and the birds who do their work
in the darkness.
All night I rose and fell, as if in water,
grappling with
a luminous doom. By morning
I had vanished at least a dozen times
something better.
     - Mary Oliver


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