by Margaret Oliver

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

Tell me about your despair, yours, and I’ll tell you mine.

Meanwhile, the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile, the wild geese, high in the clean blue air are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

The world offers you its imagination,

Calls to you like wild geese,

Harsh and exciting-

Over and over announcing your

Place in the family of things.