March Morning

The light
creeps in
slowly
this year
tiptoeing
past
soft
pillows
of
white

A Peaceful Morning

"Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood."

                                                                                      -Mary Oliver

The Tall White Lily

All night
I float
in the shallow ponds
while the moon wanders

burning,
bone white,
among the milky stems.
Once

I saw her hand reach
to touch the muskrat's
small sleek head
and it was lovely, oh,

I don't want to argue anymore
about all the things
I thought I could not
live without!  Soon

the muskrat
will glide with another
into their castle
of weeds, morning

will rise from the east
tangled and brazen,
and before that
difficult

and beautiful
hurricane of light
I want to flow out
across the mother

of all waters,
I want to lose myself
on the black
and silky currents,

yawning,
gathering
the tall lilies
of sleep.




White Night by Mary Oliver

The Chat

I wish
I were
the yellow chat
down in the thickets

who sings all night,
throwing
into the air
praises

and panhandles,
plaints,
in curly phrases,
half-rhymes,

free verse too,
with head-dipping
and wing-wringing,
with soft breast

rising in to the air--
meek and sleek,
broadcasting,
with no time out

for pillow-rest,
everything--
pathos,
thanks--

oh, Lord,
what a lesson
you send me
as I stand

listening
to your rattling, swamp-loving chat
singing
of his simple, leafy life--

how I would like to sing to you
all night
in the dark
just like that.

by Mary Oliver

Ducks have returned to Lake Harriet

Everything in its Place