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 think 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 from this world–

or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?
~Mary Oliver “The Sun”

There is no word to describe
its faithful return each day.

I struggle to hang on to it,
unwilling to let this lambent light
slip through my fingers~

Yet I remain empty-handed,
too focused on things less illuminating.

Soon darkness will begin to claim our days again.
So I grasp hold of this warmth and light
and hold on as long as I’m able,
burnishing my readiness for eternity.