Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
“The Summer Day” by Mary Oliver reprinted by the permission of The Charlotte Sheedy Literary Agency as agent for the author. Copyright © 1990, 2006, 2008, 2017 by Mary Oliver with permission of Bill Reichblum
Dog around the block, sniff,
Hydrant sniffing, corner, grating,
Sniffing, always, starting forward,
Backward, dragging, sniffing backward,
Leash at taut, leash at dangle,
Leash in people’s feet entangle—
Sniffing dog, apprised of smellings,
Love of life, and fronts of dwellings,
Meeting enemies,
Loving old acquaintance, sniff,
Sniffing hydrant for reminders,
Leg against the wall, raise,
Leaving grating, corner greeting,
Chance for meeting, sniff, meeting,
Meeting, telling, news of smelling,
Nose to tail, tail to nose,
Rigid, careful, pose,
Liking, partly liking, hating,
Then another hydrant, grating,
Leash at taut, leash at dangle,
Tangle, sniff, untangle,
Dog around the block, sniff.
This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on August 16, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
for Gretchen and Herb: June 15, 1991 imagine the very first marriage a girl and boy trembling with some inchoate need for ceremony a desire for witness: inventing formality like a wheel or a hoe in a lost language in a clearing too far from here a prophet or a prophetess intoned to the lovers who knelt with their hearts cresting like the unnamed ocean thinking This is true thinking they will never be alone again though planets slip their tracks and fish desert the sea repeating those magic sounds meaning I do on this stone below this tree before these friends yes in body and word my darkdream my sunsong yes I do I do
Copyright © 1996 by Peter Meinke. From Scars by Peter Meinke. Reprinted by permission of the University of Pittsburgh Press.