- Mary Oliver
It is a midwinter day
and I read a poem by you
where an end date
follows your name.
Some unspeakable sadness
drops through me.
Just moments ago,
I watched a coyote
stroll by the fishpond
as if she had no reason
for rushing today.
Up the hill,
a patch of rosemary
has burst into a wild layer
of blue blossoms,
dressed in a fine net
of spider silk and mist.
Tonight, a multitude
of souls will listen
to the midnight calls
of a Great Horned Owl,
read the calligraphy
of the stars, and wonder
at the blessings
sown deep inside
the words you have left us.
© Debbie Hall
Debbie is a psychologist and writer whose poetry has appeared in a number of literary journals. She is the author of the poetry collection, "What Light I Have" (2017, Main Street Rag Books).
