“White Eyes”

by Mary Oliver

In winter

all the singing is in

the tops of the trees,

where the wind-bird

With its white eyes

shoves and pushes

among the branches.

Like any of us

He wants to go to sleep,

but he’s restless–

he has an idea,

and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings

as long as he stays awake.

But his big, round music, after all,

is too breathy to last.

Read the rest of the poem here.

Don’t miss Krista Tippet’s recent interview with Mary Oliver at On Being.

Be sure to visit Liz Steinglass for the Poetry Friday Round Up!