In the early curtains
  of the dusk
     it flew,
        a slow galloping
 
this way and that way
  through the trees
     and under the trees.
        I live
 
in the open mindedness
  of not knowing enough
     about anything.
        It was beautiful.
 
It was silent.
  It didn’t even have a mouth.
     But it wanted something,
        it had a purpose
 
and a few precious hours
  to find it,
     and I suppose it did.
        The next evening
 
it lay on the ground
  like a broken leaf
     and didn’t move,
        which hurt my heart
 
which is another small thing
  that doesn’t know much.
     When this happened it was about
        the middle of summer,
 
which also has its purposes
  and only so many precious hours.
     How quietly,
        and not with any assignment from us,
 
or even a small hint
  of understanding,
     everything that needs to be done
        is done.

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Ben Jackson
7 months

Such a beautiful Poem. Mary Oliver is my heart's voice.

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