Mary Oliver
- Mary-
- Began, sorting through herself,
- Breathing in the cast darkness of Edna St. Vincent,
- Folding up shadows.
- Metamorphosis occurring at age twenty-eight,
- Dissolving and reforming into award, award, award, award, award, award.
- And later, by the seaside, in a bustling fisherman’s port, Austerlitz,
- Among her thoughts of salted winds and moving branches,
- She looked and fell, hook and tumble,
- A snapshot flash in the lense of Molly Cook.
- Forty years later still a fading imprint
- in those New England hiking trails.
- Cancer stealing that same light away,
- Devastation and isolation coming down like clear pebbles of rain.
- She migrated to a church of silence,
- Cabin in the woods, among the moving branches.
- She begins to sort through herself again
- This time
- Folding up light.
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