At first...
Little Lord Love
Mary Oliver
Little Lord Love, he with the arrows,
has definitely shot the last one
with my name on it
straight to the heart
now, when I'm no longer young
and it's easy to stay up half the night
talking, and so on
Little Lord, frolicsome boy,
why did you wait until now?
And then...
Little Crazy Love Song
Mary Oliver
I don't want eventual,
I want soon.
It's 5 a.m. It's noon.
It's dusk falling into dark.
I listen to music.
I eat up a few wild poems
while time creeps along
as though it's got all day.
This is what I have.
The dull hangover of waiting,
the blush of my heart on the damp grass
the flower-faced moon.
A gull broods on the shore
where a moment ago there were two.
Softly my right hand fondles my left hand
as though it were you.
I am ignited.
...
She caught my soul once more.
It's 4 a.m. and I am awake when the poets are.
These poems are for me, I think.
I always think too much.
...
Feel.
She tells me much.
But this, this is something no one can teach me.
I am infinitely alive in a moment
no other human is awake.
Feel.
...
It means too much not to.
...
