• Black and White,  Mary Oliver,  poems,  poetry,  Self-portraits

    Temple of Thought

    Not quite four a.m., when the rapture of being alive
    strikes me from sleep, and I rise
    from the comfortable bed and go
    to another room, where my books are lined up
    in their neat and colorful rows. How 

    magical they are! I choose one
    and open it. Soon
    I have wandered in over the waves of the words
    to the temple of thought.

                      And then I hear
    outside, over the actual waves, the small,
    perfect voice of the loon. He is also awake,
    and with his heavy head uplifted he calls out
    to the fading moon, to the pink flush
    swelling in the east that, soon,
    will become the long, reasonable day. 

                           Inside the house
    it is still dark, except for the pool of lamplight
    in which I am sitting.
                      I do not close the book. 
    Neither, for a long while, do I read on.

    Mary Oliver, her poem The Loon from What Do I know?