An Afternoon In The Stacks by Mary Oliver

Closing the book, I find I have left my head
inside. It is dark in here, but the chapters open
their beautiful spaces and give a rustling sound,
words adjusting themselves to their meaning.
Long passages open at successive pages. An echo,
continuous from the title onward, hums
behind me. From in here, the world looms,
a jungle redeemed by these linked sentences
carved out when an author traveled and a reader
kept the way open. When this book ends
I will pull it inside-out like a sock
and throw it back in the library. But the rumor
of it will haunt all that follows in my life.
A candleflame in Tibet leans when I move.

by Mary Oliver

Other poems by 'Mary Oliver'

When Death Comes

The Journey

A Meeting

The Summer Day

Little Summer Poem Touching The Subject Of Faith

Cold Poem

Music

The Sun

The Chance To Love Everything

Next Time

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