first of august

August
      
When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.

-Mary Oliver

Comments

[Megan]

That's a beautiful poem.

[sarah]

mary oliver, how i love thee! thanks much for sharing.