Mary Oliver

if the bees know that otherwise death

is everywhere, even in the red swamp

of a flower. But they did this

with no small amount of desperation—you might say: love

the dark heart of the story that is all
the reason for its telling?

I listened to the earth-talk,

You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

have you dared to feel
the isolation gathering
intolerably and recognized
what kinds of explosions can follow
from an intolerable condition?

determined to do
the only thing you could do —
determined to save
the only life you could save.

The sea
isn’t a place
but a fact, and
a mystery
under its green and black
cobbled coat that never
stops moving.

on the rippling sand,

at the edge of the turning tide —

its upheaval —

its stunning proposal —

its black, anonymous roar.