Come with me
by Mary Oliver
If there is life after the earth-life, will you come with me?
Even then? Since we’re bound to be something, why not
together. Imagine! Two little stones, two fleas under the
wing of a gull, flying along through the fog! Or, ten blades
of grass. Ten loops of honeysuckle, all flung against each
other, at the edge of Race Road! Beach plums! Snowflakes,
coasting into the winter woods, making a very small sound,
as they marry the dusty bodies of the pitch-pines. Or, rain—
that gray light running over the sea, pocking it, lacquering
it, coming, all morning and afternoon, from the west wind’s
youth and abundance and jollity¬¬––pinging and jangling
down upon the roofs of Provincetown.