I am sorry for every mistake I have made in my life. I’m sorry I wasn’t wiser sooner. I’m sorry I ever spoke of myself as lonely. - Mary Oliver

It's true, isn't it,
in our world,
that the petals pooled with nectar, and the polished thorns
are a single thing-
that the petals pooled with nectar, and the polished thorns
are a single thing-
that even the purest light, lacking the robe of darkness,
would be without expression-
that love itself, without pain, would be
no more than a shrug gable comfort.

Every word is a messenger. Some have wings; some are filled with fire; some are filled with death.

Still, what I want in my life
is to be willing
to be dazzled — to cast aside the weight of facts

and maybe even
to float a little
above this difficult world.