Mary Oliver





Percy (2002-2009)

This — I said to Percy when I had left
    our bed and gone
out onto the living room couch where
he found me apparently doing nothing—this
    is called thinking.
It’s something people do,
not being entirely children of the earth,
    like a dog or a tree or a flower.

His eyes question such an activity,
“Well, okay,” he said. “If you say so. Whatever
it is. Actually
    I like kissing better.”

And next to me,
tucked down his curly head
and, sweet as a flower, slept.