Every day
I see or I hear
something
that more or less
kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle
in a 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?
by Mary Oliver
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