Is it strange that Mary Oliver reminds me of Hafiz,
especially in the irresponsible dawn hours when I feel
like I could swallow God even before I swallow
my dreams, when the ghosts of swallows still dance
in the light of an echoing sunset, when there is
nothing but blue inside, between these white pages?
especially in the irresponsible dawn hours when I feel
like I could swallow God even before I swallow
my dreams, when the ghosts of swallows still dance
in the light of an echoing sunset, when there is
nothing but blue inside, between these white pages?
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