August

When the blackberries hang
swollen in the woods, in the brambles
nobody owns, I spend

all day among the high
branches, reaching
my ripped arms, thinking

of nothing, cramming
the black honey of summer
into my mouth; all day my body

accepts what it is. In the dark
creeks that run by there is
this thick paw of my life darting among

the black bells, the leaves; there is
this happy tongue.

by Mary Oliver

Comments (1)

Q: has she read ANTLER (deer poem, e(special) ly) ? Q: does she believe in such an animal-stance (competition as respect): or is that an assuming posture? Q: what's it like for her, bear, (and ants) to share in the fulfillment of need? ... greed?