10.5.10

mole: a poem by mary oliver . . .



Under the leaves , under
the first loose
levels of earth
they're there __ quick
as beetles, blind
as bats, shy
as hares but seen
less than these __
traveling
among the pale girders
of appleroot,
rockshelf, nests
of insects and black
pastures of bulbs
peppery and packed full
of the sweetest food :
spring flowers.
Field after field
you can see the traceries
of their long
lonely walks, then
the rains blur
even this frail
hint of them__
so excitable,
so plush,
so willing to continue
generation after generation
accomplishing nothing
but their brief physical lives
as they live and die,
pushing and shoving
with their stubborn muzzles against
the whole eart,`finding it
delicious.

_ mary oliver
The Truro bear
and other adventures
poems and essays
Beacon Press. Boston.
www.beacon.org