The Sun (Mary Oliver)
Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful
than the way the sun
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon
and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone--
and how it slides again
out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower
streaming upward on its heavenly oils
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance--
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love--
do you tink there is anywhere, in any language
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure
that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you
as you stand there,
empty-handed--
or have you too
turned form this world--
or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?
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