more wonderful than
way sun floats toward horizon
and into the clouds?
Have you ever seen
anything
in your life
more wonderful
than the way the sun,
every evening,
relaxed and easy,
floats toward the horizon
and into the clouds or the hills,
or the rumpled sea,
and is gone–
and how it slides again
out of the blackness,
every morning,
on the other side of the world,
like a red flower
streaming upward on its heavenly oils,
say, on a morning in early summer,
at its perfect imperial distance–
and have you ever felt for anything
such wild love–
do you think there is anywhere, in any language,
a word billowing enough
for the pleasure
that fills you,
as the sun
reaches out,
as it warms you
as you stand there,
empty-handed–
or have you too
turned from this world–
or have you too
gone crazy
for power,
for things?
The Sun by Mary Oliver as published in New and selected poems (Beacon Press Collection: Boston, 1992).
As the sun is setting, it is rising somewhere else.
My day is done and is just beginning for someone somewhere else.
Into the clouds for me.
Out of the blackness for someone else.
Relaxed and easy … every evening and every morning.
At its perfect imperial distance.
Just happy to be here.
