Salt

If you’re born with the taste of salt on your

Tongue, in sight of a treetop mast; you tend

To take the wide-angle view, catch the stars,

Explore the seas; and search out the ribbon

That fastens the firmament to earth.

Unending whorls of space, deep reaches

Of ocean clutch at me like the rumble

Of earthquakes. You who are ground

And sky and sea, remember me. I tremble

Like a blown leaf on damp trampled sand.

I am not the wave who washes all things

Clean nor the shore who reaches for the lost.

I am the seashell with its ear wide open, the

Blade of grass who bends to listen for the

Possibilities in every breath.

morning prayer by mary oliver

Morning Prayer by Mary Oliver

Every morning

the world

is created.

Under the orange

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into  leaves again

and fasten themselves to the ;high branches--

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere

and if your spirit carries within it

the thorn

that is heavier than lead--

if it's all you can do

to keep on trudging--

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted--

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered

lavishly,

every morning,

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy,

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray.