When the blackberries hang

swollen in the woods,

in the brambles

nobody owns,

I spend all day among the high branches,

reaching my ripped arms,

thinking of nothing,

cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth;

all day my body accepts what it is.

In the dark creeks that run by

there is this thick paw of my life darting amongthe black bells,

the leaves; there is this happy tongue.

- Mary Oliver