Mary Oliver


They look on her face in a dream
Stayed with me all day
Like a promise I had failed.

Not that I had made any -
Not that I could remember - 
But she was looking into the north

Where nothing lives but white clouds
Of crying birds, like bits of snow.
And the grass on which she was standing.

And the roses thick on the fences
Were soft and bright, able to renew themselves
As a woman, finally, cannot do.

spoken = Susannah Wood