EGRETS
            Mary Oliver
                p. 1983*
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Where the path closed
  down and over,
    through the scumbled leaves,
      fallen branches,
through the knotted catbrier,
  I kept going. Finally
    I could not
      save my arms
          from thorns; soon
the mosquitoes
  smelled me, hot
    and wounded, and came
      wheeling and whining.
        And that's how I came
to the edge of the pond:
  black and empty
    except for a spindle
      of bleached reeds
at the far shore
  which, as I looked,
    wrinkled suddenly
      into three egrets--
a shower
  of white fire!
    Even half-asleep they had
      such faith in the world
that had made them--
  tilting through the water,
    unruffled, sure,
      by the laws
of their faith not logic,
  they opened their wings
    softly and stepped
      over every dark thing.


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* from _American_Primitive_, 1983

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