I tied together <br />a few slender reeds, cut <br />notches to breathe across and made <br />such music you stood <br />shock still and then <br /> <br />followed as I wandered growing <br />moment by moment <br />slant-eyes and shaggy, my feet <br />slamming over the rocks, growing <br />hard as horn, and there <br /> <br />you were behind me, drowning <br />in the music, letting <br />the silver clasps out of your hair, <br />hurrying, taking off <br />your clothes. <br /> <br />I can't remember <br />where this happened but I think <br />it was late summer when everything <br />is full of fire and rounding to fruition <br />and whatever doesn't, <br />or resists, <br />must lie like a field of dark water under <br />the pulling moon, <br />tossing and tossing. <br /> <br />In the brutal elegance of cities <br />I have walked down <br />the halls of hotels <br /> <br />and heard this music behind <br />shut doors. <br /> <br />Do you think the heart <br />is accountable? Do you think the body <br />any more than a branch <br />of the honey locust tree, <br /> <br />hunting water, <br />hunching toward the sun, <br />shivering, when it feels <br />that good, into <br />white blossoms? <br /> <br />Or do you think there is a kind <br />of music, a certain strand <br />that lights up the otherwise <br />blunt wilderness of the body - <br />a furious <br />and unaccountable selectivity? <br /> <br />Ah well, anyway, whether or not <br />it was late summer, or even <br />in our part of the world, it is all <br />only a dream, I did not <br />turn into the lithe goat god. Nor did you come running <br />like that. <br /> <br />Did you?<br /><br />Mary Oliver<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/music-2/
