Friday, May 21, 2010


Isn't it plain the sheets of moss, except that
they have no tongues, could lecture
all day if they wanted about

spiritual patience? Isn't it clear
the black oaks along the path are standing
as though they were the most fragile of flowers?

Every morning I walk like this around
the pond, thinking: if the doors of my heart
ever close, I am as good as dead.

Every morning, so far, I'm alive. And now
the crows break off from the rest of the darkness
and burst up into the sky -- as though

all night they had thought of what they would like
their lives to be, and imagined
their strong, thick wings.

-- Mary Oliver

(Photo: Beach rose at South Amboy, last weekend.)


Reya Mellicker said...

I think perhaps it's a good thing that most of us don't understand green world language. I bet they would have a thing or two to say to us that we might not want to hear!

Great poem. Happy weekend, Steve.

Barbara said...

I especially like the line "If the doors of my heart ever close, I am as good as dead." She really has a way with words.