—for Mary Oliver, January 17, 2019
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
—Mary Oliver, The Summer Day
And when she said, “you don’t have to be good,”
my whole body became wild goose
as the truth of her lines winged through.
And when she asked, “what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?”
I walked outside and heard the low river.
And when she suggested we live
as “a bride married to amazement,”
I made my vows to life.
On the day that she died, the winter
was too warm for snow, and the rain
gave luster to every sullen thing.
In me, a storm threatened to rise,
but the only words that would find my lips
were thank you, thank you, thank you.