Poetry on a Tuesday

Mindful

Everyday

I see or hear

something

that more or less

kills me

with delight,

that leaves me

like a needle

in the haystack

of light.

It was 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.