haystack of light

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Drea Art
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Mindful by Mary Oliver

Every day
I see or hear
something
that more or less


kills me
with delight,
that leaves me
like a needle


in the haystack
of light.
It was what I was born for –
to look, to listen,


to lose myself
inside this soft world –
to instruct myself
over and over


in joy,
and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,


the fearful, the dreadful,
the very extravagant –
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,


the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help


but grow wise
with such teachings
as these –
the untrimmable light


of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?


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