Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable. - Mary Oliver

And there you are
on the shore,

fitful and thoughtful, trying
to attach them to an idea — some news of your own life.
But the lilies

are slippery and wild — they are
devoid of meaning, they are
simply doing,
from the deepest

spurs of their being,
what they are impelled to do
every summer.
And so, dear sorrow, are you.

Death waits for me, I know it, around one corner or another. This doesn't amuse me. Neither does it frighten me. After the rain, I went back into the field of sunflowers. It was cool, and I was anything but drowsy. I walked slowly, and listened to the crazy roots, in the drenched earth, laughing and growing.

Is the soul solid, like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, like
the wings of a moth in the beak of the owl.