so I thought:
maybe death
isn’t darkness, after all,
but so much light
–Mary Oliver, White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field
To wait by the long river
is to sometimes think
we wait only by the ruins we construct,
the river we want only to love
for being the river
harnessed into our scattering cities
harnessed into their needs and wants.
The snowy egret
I thought all summer lost
I found just this morning
preening with its mate on the rocks
in a slant of golden light,
of golden hour.
How suddenly miracles happen :
a slight gathering of feather,
a shift in the wind, and the wings pour open,
your body on the river
floating no longer just a moment,
but always.
--For Melanie
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