Owl in the black morning,
mockingbird in the burning
slants of the sunny afternoon
declare so simply
to the world
everything I have tried but still
haven't been able
to put into words,
so I do not go
far from that school
with its star-bright
or blue ceiling,
and I listen to those teachers,
and others too -
the wind in the trees
and the water waves -
for they are what lead me
from the dryness of self
where I labor
with the mind-steps of language -
lonely, as we all are
in the singular,
I listen hard
to the exuberances
of the mockingbird and the owl,
the waves and the wind.
And then, like peace after perfect speech,
such stillness.
Mary Oliver
Photo: Peter Bowers