of straw is nudged open: emerging, at night,
to bind my vigil with that deep sleep of yours
that takes them in , the porcupines
slake their thirst at a trickle of pity.
Mary
Oliver
SUNRISE
You can
die for it–
an idea,
or the world; people
have done so,
brilliantly,
letting
their small bodies be bound
to the stake,
creating
an unforgettable
fury of light; but
this morning,
climbing the familiar hills
in the familiar
fabric of dawn, I thought
of China
and India
and Europe, and I thought
how the sun
