one or two things

by mary oliver

1
don't bother me.
i've just
been born.

2
the butterfly's loping flight
carries it through the country of leaves
delicately, and well enough to get it
where it wants to go, wherever that is, stopping
here and there to fuzzle the damp throats
of flowers and the black mud; up
and down it swings, frenzied and aimless; and sometimes

for long delicious moments it is perfectly
lazy, riding motionless in the breeze on the soft talk
of some ordinary flower.

3
the god of dirt
came up to me many times and said
so many wise and delectable things, i lay
on the grass listening
to his dog voice,
crow voice,
frog voice; now,
he said, and now,

and never once mentioned forever,

4
which has nevertheless always been,
like a sharp iron hoof,
at the center of my mind.

5
one or two things are all you need
to travel over the blue pond, over the deep
roughage of the trees and through the stiff
flowers of lightning - some deep
memory of pleasure, some cutting
knowledge of pain.

6
but to lift the hoof!
for that you need
an idea.

7
for years and years i struggled
just to love my life. and then

the butterfly
rose, weightless, in the wind.
"don't love your life
too much," it said,

and vanished
into the world.

nineteen eighty three

by ray a. young bear from the invisible musician

1.

it is january--

and simply because

the rain failed to change

into snow

the quiet river

has risen to flood stage.

half-frozen rainwater

fills into a nearby pond

where once the sound

of frogs, crickets,

mosquitoes and birds

permeated the humid

summer night:

narcosis through

the sound of an open

window. tomorrow

young children will

pretend to skate

over the thick pond ice,

but each day their figures

will slowly descend

into the ground,

reminding us

of mythical rolling

heads playing hockey.

the rainwater will evaporate

and ice will succumb

to the daily game.

winter’s indecision

makes us feel safe.

an elder, however,

would say, “you’re

basically unprepared.”

no matter how balanced

one’s mentality,

one’s physicality.

2.

the gentle appearance

of the female death light

from wisconsin

takes place

in the center

of a soybean field.

two times, a slow fire.

inside the hollow wall

a mouse takes a chance

during our rumination

to weep like a human.

throughout the neighborhood

the four-legged sentinels,

especially the all-white ones,

signal each other of this

incongruity: a shadow

of an unknown tall being

stands in the flash

of lightning.