mindful

every day
   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 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?

-mary oliver

my sister sent me a book of her poetry. i’m pouring over it.