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Mary Oliver

The Oak Tree Loves Patience

The oak tree
       loves patience,
the mountain is
       still looking,

as it has for centuries,
       for a word to say about
the gradual way it
       slides itself

back to the
       world below
to begin again,
       in another life,

to be fertile.
       When the wind blows
the grass
       whistles and whispers

in myths and riddles
       and not in our language
but one far older.
       The sea is the sea is

always the sea.
       These things
you can count on
       as you walk about the world

happy or sad,
       talky or silent, making
weapons, love, poems.
       The briefest of fires.

 Mary Oliver, Blue Horses (Penguin Press, 2014)


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