…I wish we could be friends,
but when he sees me
daring to look at
him
he opens his
strong arms
that are dressed, always, in the darkest ribbons,
and floats off —
but only a little
way
and he’s down
again on the sandy track.
and who has seen yet anything cleaner,
bolder,
more gleaming, more
certain of its philosophy
than the eye he
turns back?
From ‘Crow’ by Mary
Oliver
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