June
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Who can tell how lovely in June
is the honey locust tree,
or why a tree should be so sweet
and live in this world?
Each white blossom
on a dangle of white flowers
holds one green seed—
a new life. Also each blossom
on a dangle of flowers
holds a flask of fragrance
called Heaven,
which is never sealed.
The bees circle the tree
and dive into it.
They are crazy with gratitude.
They are working like farmers.
They are as happy as saints.
After a while the flowers begin
to wilt and drop down
into the grass.
Welcome shines in the grass.
Every year I gather handfuls
of blossoms and eat
of their mealiness;
the honey melts in my mouth,
the seeds make me strong,
both when they are crisp and ripe,
and even at the end
when their petals have turned
dull yellow. So it is
if the heart has devoted itself
to love, there is not a single inch
of emptiness. Gladness gleams
all the way
to the grave.
―Mary Oliver
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Poem: On June Blossoming in June
Poem: Birth Certificate: Amsterdam, 22 June 1988
Poem: ("There have been many Junes...")
Poem: Something Like We Did IV
Poem: As I Stand on a Paddle Board for the First Time in June, I Plan for October’s Eclipse