Mary Oliver

I found a treasure trove of Mary Oliver’s Poetry online.

(update — I added the link to the treasure trove of poetry I forgot when I first posted)

The world needs to clone en masse the Love Child of Mary Oliver and Wendell Berry. Just an idea.

The spirit likes to dress up like this:
ten fingers, ten toes, shoulders, and all the rest
at night in the black branches, in the morning
in the blue branches of the world.

It could float, of course, but would rather plumb rough matter.

Airy and shapeless thing,
It needs the metaphor of the body,
lime and appetite, the oceanic fluids;
it needs the body’s world, instinct and imagination
and the dark hug of time, sweetness and tangibility,

to be understood,
to be more than pure light that burns where no one is —

so it enters us — in the morning
shines from brute comfort like a stitch of lightning;
and at night lights up the deep and wondrous drownings of the body
like a star.

— Mary Oliver

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