Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Grandmother Oliver

She said to write it down
and so I did:

Above a wild white rose,
the moon bled onto clouds.

"Smell that," said my love,
"it's still summer."

I put my face into the flower
and drowned in fragrance

on this cool September night
after Mary Oliver smiled at me -

Mary Oliver with her white hair
and wild, shining eyes.


  1. Hey there. My husband followed your tweet. We were there last night and just came home. Mary smiled at me too. Beautiful poem!