Mary Oliver: Snow Geese

Snow Geese

 

Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last!
What a task
to ask

 

of anything, or anyone,

 

yet it is ours,
and not by the century or the year, but by the hours.

 

One fall day I heard
above me, and above the sting of the wind, a sound
I did not know, and my look shot upward; it was

 

a flock of snow geese, winging it
faster than the ones we usually see,
and, being the color of snow, catching the sun

 

so they were, in part at least, golden.  I

 

held my breath
as we do
sometimes
to stop time
when something wonderful
has touched us

 

as with a match,
which is lit, and bright,
but does not hurt
in the common way,

 

but delightfully,
as if delight
were the most serious thing
you ever felt.

 

The geese
flew on,
I have never seen them again.

 

Maybe I will, someday, somewhere.
Maybe I won't.
It doesn't matter.
What matters
is that, when I saw them,
I saw them
as through the veil, secretly, joyfully, clearly.

 

 

- Mary Oliver, from Why I Wake Early