Those Quiet Lines

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4 Comments so far. Comments are closed.
  1. Hemay,

    Very beautiful.

  2. fortson,

    Walking to Oak-Head Pond, and Thinking of the Ponds I Will Visit in the Next Days and Weeks

    [by Mary Oliver]

    What is so utterly invisible
    as tomorrow?
    Not love,
    not the wind,

    not the inside of stone.
    Not anything.
    And yet, how often I’m fooled-
    I’m wading along

    in the sunlight-
    and I’m sure I can see the fields and the ponds shining
    days ahead-
    I can see the light spilling

    like a shower of meteors
    into next week’s trees,
    and I plan to be there soon-
    and, so far, I am

    just that lucky,
    my legs splashing
    over the edge of darkness,
    my heart on fire.

    I don’t know where
    such certainty comes from-
    the brave flesh
    or the theater of the mind-

    but if I had to guess
    I would say that only
    what the soul is supposed to be
    could send us forth

    with such cheer
    as even the leaf must wear
    as it unfurls
    its fragrant body, and shines

    against the hard possibility of stoppage-
    which, day after day,
    before such brisk, corpuscular belief,
    shudders, and gives way.

  3. zoe,

    This is so beautiful!

  4. Kate,

    Jon. OwO I love it.