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.

  • 2
  • 0
  •  
  •  
Login to comment...
Email

Other works by Mary Oliver...