Mary Oliver

 

For some more Mary Oliver goodness: “Tell me about Despair, yours & I will tell you Mine”—Rare Live Reading by Mary Oliver.

Where the path closed

down and over,

through the scumbled leaves,

fallen branches,

through the knotted catbrier,

I kept going. Finally

I could not

save my arms

from thorns; soon

the mosquitoes

smelled me, hot

and wounded, and came

wheeling and whining.

And that’s how I came

to the edge of the pond:

black and empty

except for a spindle

of bleached reeds

at the far shore

which, as I looked,

wrinkled suddenly

into three egrets – – –

a shower

of white fire!

Even half-asleep they had

such faith in the world

that had made them – – –

tilting through the water,

unruffled, sure,

by the laws

of their faith not logic,

they opened their wings

softly and stepped

over every dark thing.