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Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith

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  • mary
    Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith Every summer I listen and look under the sun s brass and even into the moonlight, but I can t hear anything, I
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 3, 2005
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      Cornfield before Thunderstorm
       
       
       
       
      Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith

      Every summer
      I listen and look
      under the sun's brass and even
      into the moonlight, but I can't hear

      anything, I can't see anything --
      not the pale roots digging down, nor the green stalks muscling up,
      nor the leaves
      deepening their damp pleats,

      nor the tassels making,
      nor the shucks, nor the cobs.
      And still,
      every day,

      the leafy fields
      grow taller and thicker --
      green gowns lofting up in the night,
      showered with silk.

      And so, every summer,
      I fail as a witness, seeing nothing --
      I am deaf too
      to the tick of the leaves,

      the tapping of downwardness from the banyan feet --
      all of it
      happening
      beyond any seeable proof, or hearable hum.

      And, therefore, let the immeasurable come.
      Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine.
      Let the wind turn in the trees,
      and the mystery hidden in the dirt

      swing through the air.
      How could I look at anything in this world
      and tremble, and grip my hands over my heart?
      What should I fear?

      One morning
      in the leafy green ocean
      the honeycomb of the corn's beautiful body
      is sure to be there.

      ~ Mary Oliver ~

      (West Wind)
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