by: mary oliver
"i thought the earth remembered me,
she took me back so tenderly,
arranging her dark skirts, her pockets
full of lichens and seeds.
i slept as never before, a stone
on the riverbed, nothing
between me and the white fire of the stars
but my thoughts, and they floated
light as moths among tree branches
of the perfect trees. all night
i heard the small kingdoms breathing
around me, the insects, and the birds
who do their work in the darkness. all night
i rose and fell, as if in water, grappling
with a luminous doom. by morning
i had vanished at least a dozen times
into something better."
from mary oliver's book:"twelve moons"