When the blackberries hang swollen in the woods, in the brambles nobody owns, I spend all day among the high branches, reaching my ripped arms, thinking of nothing, cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth; all day my body accepts what it is. In the dark creeks that run by there is this thick paw of my life darting among the black bells, the leaves; there is this happy tongue.
Added: 2 Mar 2002 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 3:59 PM | Viewed: 21897 times
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Mary Oliver
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