Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Mary Oliver: The Deer


The Deer
 
You never know.
The body of night opens
like a river, it drifts upward like white smoke,
 
like so many wrappings of mist.
And on the hillside two dear are walking along
just as though this wasn't
 
the owned, tilled earth of today
but the past.
I did not see them the next day, or the next,
 
but in my mind's eye - 
there they are, in the long grass,
like two sisters.
 
This is the earnest work.  Each of us is given
only so many mornings to do it - 
to look around and love
 
the oily fur of our lives,
the hoof and the grass-stained muzzle.
Days I don't do this
 
I feel the terror of idleness,
like a red thirst.
Death isn't just an idea.
 
When we die the body breaks open
like a river;
the old body goes on, climbing the hill.
 
~ Mary Oliver ~
 
(House of Light)
 
 
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