(My photos and excerpts from Mary Oliver poems)
In matters of love of this kind
there are things we long to do
but must not do.
I would not want to see your smile diminished.
And the flowers, anyway,
are happy just where they are,
on the pale dunes,
above the cricket’s humble nest,
under the blue sky
that loves us all.
How quietly,
and not with any assignment from us,
or even a small hint of understanding,
everything that needs to be done
is done.
Sometimes I dream
that everything in the world is here, in my room,
in a great closet, named and orderly,
and I am here too, in front of it,
hardly able to see the flash and the brightness--
and sometimes I am that madcap person clapping my hands and singing;
and sometimes I am that quiet person down on my knees.
