Albatross
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Form is certainty. All nature knows this, and we have no greater adviser. Clouds have forms, porous and shape-shifting, bumptious, fleecy. They are what clouds need to be, to be clouds. See a flock of them come, on the sled of the wind, all kneeling above the blue sea. And in the blue water, see the dolphin built to leap, the sea mouse skittering; see the ropy kelp with its air-filled bladders tugging it upward; see the albatross floating day after day on its three-jointed wings.
―Mary Oliver
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Poem: The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Poem: Someone Is Studying Einstein’s Brain
Poem: I Am Trying to Love the Whole World
Poem: Self-Portrait as Baby Albatrosses
It’s not you, it’s climate change