for the weekend


Every day
I see or I hear
that more or less

kills me
with delight,
and leaves me
like a needle

in the haystack
of light.
It is what I was born for-to look, to listen,

to lose myself
inside this soft world-
to instruct myself over and over

in joy,and acclamation.
Nor am I talking
about the exceptional,

the fearful, the dreadful
the very extravagant-
but of the ordinary,
the common, the very drab,

the daily presentations.
Oh, good scholar,
I say to myself,
how can you help

but grow wise
with such teachings
as these-
the untrimmable light

of the world,
the ocean’s shine,
the prayers that are made
out of grass?

Mary Oliver