“Mindful” – by Mary Oliver
Every day
I see or I hear
Something
That more or less
Kills me
With delight,
That leaves me
Like a needle
In the haystack
of light.
It is what I was born for –
To look, to listen,
To lose myself
Inside this soft world –
To instruct myself
Over and over
In joy and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
About the exceptional,
The fearful, the dreadful,
The very extravagant –
But of the ordinary,
The common, the very drab,
The daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
How can you help
But grow wise
With such teachings
As these –
The untrimmable light
Of the world,
The ocean’s shine,
The prayers that are made
Out of grass?
