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Last night
the rain
spoke to me
slowly, saying
what joy
to come falling
out of the brisk cloud,
to be happy again
in a new way
on the earth!
That's what it said
as it dropped,
smelling of iron,
and vanished
like a dream of the ocean
into the branches
and the grass below.
Then it was over.
The sky cleared.
I was standing
under a tree.
The tree was a tree
with happy leaves,
and I was myself,
and there were stars in the sky
that were also themselves
at the moment,
at which moment
my right hand
was holding my left hand
which was holding the tree
which was filled with stars
and the soft rain—
imagine! imagine!
the long and wondrous journeys
still to be ours.
Mary Oliver, "What Do We Know: Poems and Prose Poems"
Da Capo Press, Cambridge, MA, 2002
All images copyright ©Patricia Lay-Dorsey and may not be downloaded, printed or used in any publication without permission.
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