At Great Pond
the sun, rising,
scrapes his orange breast
on the thick pines, 
and down tumble
a few orange feathers into
the dark water.
On the far shore
a white bird is standing
like a white candle ---
or a man, in the distance,
in the clasp of some meditation --- 
while all around me the lilies
are breaking open again
from the black cave
of the night.
Later, I will consider
what I have seen ---
what it could signify ---
what words of adoration I might
make of it, and to do this
I will go indoors to my desk ---
I will sit in my chair ---
I will look back 
into the lost morning
in which I am moving, now,
like a swimmer,
so smoothly, 
so peacefully,
I am almost the lily ---
almost the bird vanishing over the water
on its sleeves of night.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 6322 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Mary Oliver
Poem: At Great Pond

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