a thousand moons

Golden moonlight  Jan 2014

reflections of a thousand moons

in the eye of the lake
the window of old snow
the mirror of the wind
the spoon of the cloud

in a bucket
a bird bath
a puddle
a polished sliver of petrified wood

on a crystal
a prism
a crackerjack ring
a brass button from an old coat

within a raindrop
a dewdrop
a clear blue sky

the glass of the frame
where your photo smiles
the door where once you stood
the life you lived
for a thousand moons

graying of temples

its the disappearing
graying of temples
and long standing walls
leaning now on their memories

how quickly they leave
disappearing in
neglect, left to collect dust
on old photographs and letters

they were here once
busy like you, late to work
and laughing, making love
and meals, raising their voices
and children, living

ah, there’s the rub
the dead are left to their own devices
playing bridge and counting clouds
leaving the living to go around
in their immortal mortality
while the ashes cool
and death never takes a holiday

Mary Oliver

HPIM0832
Poetry
By
Mary Oliver

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

from Dream Work by Mary Oliver
published by Atlantic Monthly Press
© Mary Oliver