I’ve been struck by how un-sad I feel about the passing of Mary Oliver. How could I not be sad about the death of a poet who…

I once had a student who moved like water,
so much so that one day when she came in out of the rain,
I could barely tell where the drops of rain ended and she began.
And when she spoke,
I could barely tell where she ended and her words began.
“I remember something on the bus,” she said. “Tell me if I…

I have oh so many words to express
grief and suffering.

I can oh so poetically tell you about
my pain.

I am oh so good at articulating
sorrow.

A poet must go outside
for at least ten minutes a day,
no matter the weather.

It is a mercy of the kind that leads
me to continue
to believe
in a force of Love in the universe
that there is no light more…