…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,
more gleaming, more certain of its philosophy
than the eye he turns back?
From ‘Crow’ by Mary Oliver