West Wind, poem 7, by Mary Oliver

~photo by Annabel Edwards



"And the speck of my heart, in my shed of flesh and bone,




~photo by Byron Kay



began to sing out,




~photo by Benjamin Iobst



the way the sun would sing if the sun could sing,




~photo by Debra Barra




~photo by Margaret Pangert



if light had a mouth and a tongue,




~photo by Margaret Pangert



if the sky had a throat,




~photographer unknown



if god just wasn't an idea but shoulders and a spine, gathered from everywhere,




~photo by NASA's Hubble space telescope



even the most distant planets, blazing up.




~photo by Margaret Pangert



Where am I? Even the rough words come to me now, quick as thistles.




~photo by Byron Kay



Who made your tyrant's body, your thirst, your delving, your gladness?




~photo by Margaret Pangert



Oh tiger, oh bone-breaker, oh tree on fire!




~photo by Annabel Edwards


Get away from me. Come closer."