Why I Wake Early

by Mary Oliver

I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.

and in truth I couldn’t wait to see if another would come to it for fear that it wouldn’t, and I wouldn’t be able to bear it. I wished it good luck, with all my heart,

not an answer, not a proof, but I put it there, close against my heart, where the need is, and it serves the purpose.

It’s like a schoolhouse of little words, thousands of words. First you figure out what each one means by itself, the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop full of moonlight. Then you begin, slowly, to read the whole story.

Oh, to love what is lovely, and will not last! What a task to ask of anything, or anyone, yet it is ours, and not by the century or the year, but by the hours.

held my breath as we do sometimes to stop time when something wonderful has touched us

as if delight were the most serious thing you ever felt.

Let us hope it will always be like this, each of us going on in our inexplicable ways

how blue and tiny and redeemable everything is, even you, even your eyes, even your imagination.