to Mary Oliver
I was a bird that traversed land
and shadows and heaven’s gardens,
thinking I could become an Angel.
Some said to find which constellation
rose at my birth, but it seems like
they all rose.
When I step into the dim morning air
without coffee, the birds are puzzled,
sensing something is missing.
I know music; I know prayer.
I don’t know the way of angels,
but I know they can’t be too far off.
From: Shorts: Short Poems on How We Ramble
Unpub. MS p. 69
No comments:
Post a Comment