forty five

Sleeping in the Forest

I thought the earth remembered me,

she took me back so tenderly,

arranging her dark skirts, her pockets

full of lichens and seeds.

I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed,

nothing between me and the white fire of stars

but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths

among the branches of the perfect trees.

All night, I heard the small kingdoms

breathing all around me, the insects,

and the birds who do their work in the darkness.

All night, I rose and fell, as if in water,

grappling with the luminous doom. By morning,

I vanished at least a dozen times

into something better.

by Mary Oliver