PHOTOS: Nick Knight <br /><br />MUSIC: McCoy Tyner, Search For Peace <br /><br />POEM: Mary Oliver, White Flowers <br /><br />Last night <br />in the fields <br />I lay down in the darkness <br />to think about death, <br />but instead I fell asleep, <br />as if in a vast and sloping room <br />filled with those white flowers <br />that open all summer, <br />sticky and untidy, <br />in the warm fields. <br />When I woke <br />the morning light was just slipping <br />in front of the stars, <br />and I was covered <br />with blossoms. <br />I don’t know <br />how it happened— <br />I don’t know <br />if my body went diving down <br />under the sugary vines <br />in some sleep-sharpened affinity <br />with the depths, or whether <br />that green energy <br />rose like a wave <br />and curled over me, claiming me <br />in its husky arms. <br />I pushed them away, but I didn’t rise. <br />Never in my life had I felt so plush, <br />or so slippery, <br />or so resplendently empty. <br />Never in my life <br />had I felt myself so near <br />that porous line <br />where my own body was done with <br />and the roots and the stems and the flowers <br />began.
