Why I Wake Early

by Mary Oliver

but of every enfoldment of the body— a singing that has no words or a single bar of music or anything more, in fact, than one repeated rippling phrase built of loneliness

First you figure out what each one means by itself, the jingle, the periwinkle, the scallop full of moonlight.

how the distances light up, how the clouds are the most lovely shapes you have ever seen, how the wild flowers at your feet begin distilling a fragrance different, and sweeter than any you ever stood upon before—how every leaf on the whole mountain is aflutter.

sing some sparkling poem into the folds of their ears, then walk with them, over the hills and over the hills

little streams of jewelry, in patterns of espousal and pleasure,

small silvery thing—say a piece of silver cloth, or a thousand spider webs woven together, or a small handful of aspen leaves, with their silver backs shimmering.