Six black ibis step through the black and mossy panels of summer water. Six times I sigh with delight.
The way a muskrat in the snick of its teeth can carry long branches of leaves.
Small hawks cleaning their beaks in the sun.
If you think daylight is just daylight then it is just daylight.
Believe me these are not just words talking. This is my life, thinking of the darkness to follow.
The fox: his barking, in god’s darkness, as of a little dog. The flounce of his teeth.
Every morning all those pink and green doors into the sea.
West Wind (1997), Mary Oliver