Why this?

The occasional poem of my own and a generous helping of work by others that I find inspiring. Site is named for a beloved book by one of my favorite writers, Italo Calvino, whose fanciful work lights--and delights--my soul.

Monday, March 2, 2015

Marsh Hawk

The marsh hawk
doesn't,

as other hawks do,
work his wings

like soft hinges
to make
progress over
the morning marsh,

but merely
or so it seems,
lays his breast upon the air
and the air, as if understanding,

floats him along
with his wings open,
and raised, just a little
beyond the horizontal-in thanks, perhaps,

to the great crystal carrier
of leaves and clouds-
of everything.
And even though his shadow

follows exactly
his every tilt and flow, and even though
he must know that hunger will win,
he doesn't hurry,

but floats in wide circles
as he gazes
into the marshes below
his hard beak

and the hooks of his feet, as though
wanting something
more lasting than meat.
At noon he's still  there

above the brambles, the grass, the flat water,
where, in their almost stately disengagement,
the incredible dampness and darkness
shine.  

--Mary Oliver

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