There you were, and it was like spring-
Like the first fair water with the light on it,
Hitting the eyes,
Why are we made the way we are made, that to love
Is to want?
Well, you are gone now, and this morning I have walked out
To the back shore,
To the ocean which, even if we think we have measured it,
Has not final measure.
Sometimes you can see the great whales there,
Breaching and playing.
Sometimes the swans linger just long enough
For us to be astonished.
Then they lift their wings, they become again
A part of the untouchable clouds.
We are the ideas of God, we are not, and we are the clouds – so sayeth Mary in the last 3 poems.
What I hear is that we are like the ocean and we have no final measure.
We are not just this, or only that.
I am not woman, mother, veterinarian, minister, middle-aged, nuts for birds, lonely, or in love
I am not
What are you or are you not?