August by Mary Oliver

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August

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.

Mary Oliver

Read poems about / on: summer, happy, dark, august, life, running

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Townee Towne (2/6/2008 2:22:00 AM)
Q: has she read ANTLER (deer poem, e(special) ly) ?

Q: does she believe in such an animal-stance (competition as respect): or is that an assuming posture?

Q: what's it like for her, bear, (and ants) to share in the fulfillment of need?
... greed?