Mary Oliver
In Blackwater Woods
Look, the trees | are turning | their own bodies | into pillars | | of light, | are giving off the rich | fragrance of cinnamon | and fulfillment, | | the long tapers | of cattails | are bursting and floating away over | the blue shoulders | | of the ponds, | and every pond, | no matter what its | name is, is | | nameless now. | Every year | everything | I have ever learned | | in my lifetime | leads back to this: the fires | and the black river of loss | whose other side | | is salvation, | whose meaning | none of us will ever know. | To live in this world | | you must be able | to do three things: | to love what is mortal; | to hold it | | against your bones knowing | your own life depends on it; | and, when the time comes to let it | go, | to let it go.
*
|
|
|
|
*
|
This is all so beautiful, am. The music, the poem, and that sunset rainbow. Thank you for all of this.
ReplyDeleteThat poem! I am holding on.
ReplyDeleteI love that poem and Mary Oliver in general.
ReplyDeleteThose last two stanzas pierced me. Thank you.
ReplyDelete