from 'Dead Country' by Max Gladstone

(anx) 
You're losing control, she told herself. Stop.
The sun shines. Feel its heat on your skin. Follow that back. Let your lungs fill, let blood do its job. 

Mary Oliver

...the blue of the sky falls over me

like silk, the flowers burn, and I want
to live my life all over again, to begin again, 

to be utterly
wild.

(from 'A Meeting' in American Primitive)
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MAY

May, and among the miles of leafing, 
blossoms storm out of the darkness --
windflowers and moccasin flowers. The bees
dive into them and I too, to gather
their spiritual honey. Mute and meek, yet theirs 
is the deepest certainty that this existence too --
this sense of well-being, the flourishing
of the physical body -- rides 
near the hub of the miracle that everything
is a part of, is as good
as a poem or a prayer, can also make
luminous any dark place on earth.

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