Sand Dabs, Five

A poem by Mary Oliver

What men build, in the name of security, is built of straw.

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Does the grain of sand know it is a grain of sand?

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My dog Ben -- a mouth like a tabernacle.

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You can have the other words-chance, luck, coincidence,
serendipity. I'll take grace. I don't know what it is exactly, but
I'll take it.

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The pine cone has secrets it will never tell.

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Myself, myself, myself, that darling hut!
How quick it will burn!

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Death listens
to the hum and strike of my words.
His laughter spills.

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Spring: there rises up from the earth such a blazing sweetness
it fills you, thank God, with disorder.

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I am a performing artist; I perform admiration.
Come with me, I want my poems to say. And do the same.