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WINTER HOURS
by
Mary Oliver

I Looked Up

I looked up and there it was
among the green branches of the pitchpines—

thick bird,
a ruffle of fire trailing over the shoulders and down the back—

color of copper, iron, bronze—
lighting up the dark branches of the pine.

What misery to be afraid of death.
What wretchedness, to believe only in what can be proven.

When I made a little sound
it looked at me, then it looked past me.

Then it rose, the wings enormous and opulent,
and, as I said, wreathed in fire.

The Storm

Now through the white orchard my little dog
     romps, breaking the new snow
     with wild feet.
Running here running there, excited,
     hardly able to stop, he leaps, he spins
until the white snow is written upon
     in large, exuberant letters,
a long sentence, expressing
     the pleasures of the body in this world.

Oh, I could not have said it better
     myself.

MARY OLIVER'S latest book of poems is called WINTER HOURS (Houghton Mifflin). "I Looked Up" is from WHITE PINE (Houghton Mifflin), and "The Storm" is from WINTER HOURS. 

Mary Oliver, winner of the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Award, is the author of more than ten volumes of poetry and prose, including New and Selected Poems.  

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