photo by Vidar Nordii-Mathise for unsplash
I wonder at your curiosity–what were you
searching for in your one tiny
and precious life, inside a used and musty
paperback edition of poetry?
Did it happen in winter when the silence
of deep snow granted peace to all creatures,
or was it a morning in mid-August when blackberries
hung like jewels in the brambles and woods
and the dark creeks were bursting,
when summer was brimming over with its own
exuberance, spilling over so that you paused to linger
just a little longer, lost in a reverie of beauty,
staying just one page too long.
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Lovely poem. If you have to die, doing it between the pages of Mary Oliver’s poems is not the worst way to go.
Perfect, perfect, perfect!