The Oak Tree Loves Patience
Mary Oliver


The oak tree
      loves patience,
the mountain is
      still looking,

as it has for centuries,
      for a word to say about
the gradual way it
      slides itself

back to the
      world below
to begin again,
      in another life,

to be fertile.
      When the wind blows
the grass
      whistles and whispers

in myths and riddles
      and not in our language
but one far older.
      The sea is the sea is

always the sea.
      These things
you can count on
      as you walk about the world

happy or sad,
      talky or silent, making
weapons, love, poems.
      The briefest of fires.