Sometimes this random poem selection thing I like to do in the early morning over coffee can bring tears, like this one from Mary Oliver‘s collection, “A Thousand Mornings“:


The first time Percy came backindex
he was not sailing on a cloud.
He was loping along the sand as though
he had come a great way.
“Percy,” I cried out, and reached to him –
those white curls –
but he was unreachable. As music
is present yet you can’t touch it.
“Yes, it’s all different,” he said.
But I wasn’t thinking of that.  I only
wanted to hold him. “Listen,” he said,
“I miss that too.
And now you’ll be telling stories
of my coming back
and they won’t be false, and they won’t be true,
but they’ll be real.”
And then, as he used to, he said, “Let’s go!”
And we walked down the beach together.

PUBLISHER: The Penguin Press
ISBN: 978-1-59420-477-7

Other “Off The Shelf” Selections

Remembering The Trickster, my sweet and shaggy little singer.

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