A new hour, a new day, a new Sunday.
I happened to be standing beside him
As he completed the canvass for me
Praying “Draw me, draw me, Spirit of God
That I may think what is Holy.”
I don’t know where prayers go,
or what they do.
Do cats pray, while they sleep
half-asleep in the sun?
Does the opossum pray as it
crosses the street?
The sunflowers? The old black oak
growing older every year?
I know I can walk through the world,
along the shore or under the trees,
with my mind filled with things
of little importance, in full
self-attendance. A condition I can’t really
call being alive
Is a prayer a gift, or a petition,
or does it matter?
The sunflowers blaze, maybe that’s their way.
Maybe the cats are sound asleep. Maybe not.
Mary Oliver Reads Her Poem “I Happened to be Standing”
Beautiful.
Oliver’s contemplations always move me. Thanks for sharing this one.