August 26, 2007

• 
  

    August
  
  
  When the blackberries hang
  swollen in the woods, in the brambles
  nobody owns, I spend
  
  all day among the high
  branches, reaching
  my ripped arms, thinking
  
  of nothing, cramming
  the black honey of summer
  into my mouth; all day my body
  
  accepts what it is. In the dark
  creeks that run by there is
  this thick paw of my life darting among
  
  the black bells, the leaves; there is
  this happy tongue.

  
  

    ~Mary Oliver
  

  
  

   

  
  

  

  
  

  sigh.

  
  

   

  • 9:29 pm
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