Devotions: The Selected Poems of Mary Oliver

by Mary Oliver

That night, you turn in your bed to watch the moon rise, and once more see what a small coin it is against the darkness, and how everything else is a mystery, and you know nothing at all except the moonlight is beautiful— white rivers running together along the bare boughs of the trees— and somewhere, for someone, life is becoming moment by moment unbearable.

But the seed has been planted, and when has happiness ever required much evidence to begin its leaf-green breathing?

And should anyone be surprised if sometimes, when the white moon rises, women want to lash out with a cutting edge?

You light the lamps because You are alone in your small house And the wicks sputtering gold Are like two visitors with good stories They will tell slowly, in soft voices, While the air outside turns quietly A grainy and luminous blue. You wish it would never change— But of course the darkness keeps Its appointment. Each evening, An inscrutable presence, it has the final word Outside every door.

Somebody, I suppose, Remembering the medieval maxim, Had tossed me in, Had wanted me to learn to swim, Not knowing that none of us, who ever came back From that long lonely fall and frenzied rising, Ever learned anything at all About swimming, but only How to put off, one by one, Dreams and pity, love and grace,— How to survive in any place.