“The first fish / I ever caught / would not lie down / quiet in the pail / but flailed and sucked / at the burning / amazement of the air / and died / in the slow pouring off / of rainbows.” – The Fish by Mary Oliver
“- pathless, seamless, / peerless mud. My bones / knock together at the pale / joints, trying / for foothold, fingerhold, / mindhold over / such slick crossings, deep / hip holds, hummocks / that sink silently / in the black, slack / earthsoup. I feel / not wet so much as / painted and glittered / with the fat grassy / mires, the rich and succulent marrows of earth.” – Crossing the swamp by Mary Oliver
That is just a taste of the brilliance of Mary Oliver. As you can see, I have acquired two of her books recently, American Primitive and A Poetry Handbook. I simply love it and suggest that you try some of her works yourself.