Poppies by Mary Oliver

"I also say this: that light is an invitation to happiness, and that happiness,

when it's done right, is a kind of holiness -"

Poppies by Mary Oliver

The poppies send up their orange flares; swaying in the wind, their congregations are a levitation

of bright dust, of thin and lacy leaves.

There isn't a place in this world that doesn't

sooner or later drown in the indigos of darkness, but now, for a while, the roughage

shines like a miracle as it floats above everything with its yellow hair.

Of course nothing stops the cold,

black, curved blade from hooking forward— of course loss is the great lesson.

But I also say this: that light is an invitation to happiness, and that happiness,

when it's done right, is a kind of holiness, palpable and redemptive. Inside the bright fields,

touched by their rough and spongy gold,

I am washed and washed in the river of earthly delight—

and what are you going to do—

what can you do about it— deep, blue night?