The Lilies Break Open Over Dark Water
by Mary Oliver

Inside
That mud-hive, that gas-sponge,
That reeking
Leaf-yard, that rippling

Dream-bowl, the leaches’
Flecked and swirling
Broth of life, as rich
As Babylon,

The fists crack
Open and the wands
Of the lilies
Quicken, they rise

Like pale poles
With their wrapped beaks of lace;
One day
They tear the surfaces,

The next they break open
Over the dark water.
And there you are
On the shore

Fitful and thoughtful, trying
To attach them to an idea—
Some news of your own life
But the lilies

Are slippery and wild—they are
Devoid of meaning, they are
Simply doing;
From the deepest

Spurs of their being,
What they are impelled to do
Every summer
And so, dear sorrow, are you.