The Osprey

Watchful, watchful, the osprey
On the islet in the river
Comely, goodly, the maiden,
A fit mate for our lord
--Shi jing

"The Osprey"

by Mary Oliver

This morning

an osprey

with its narrow

black-and-white face

and its cupidinous eyes

leaned down

from a leafy tree

to look into the lake - it looked

a long time, then its powerful

shoulders punched out a little

and it fell,

it rippled down

into the water -then it rose, carrying,

in the clips of its feet,

a slim and limber

silver fish, a scrim

of red rubies

on its flashing sides.

All of this

was wonderful

to look at,

so I simply stood there,

in the blue morning,

looking.

Then I walked away.

Beauty is my work,

but not my only work -

later,

when the fish was gone forever

and the bird was miles away,

I came back

and stood on the shore, thinking -

and if you think

thinking is a mild exercise,

beware!

I mean, I was swimming for my life -

and I was thundering this way and that way

in my shirt of feathers -

and I could not resolve anything long enough

to become one thing

except this: the imaginer.

It was inescapable

as over and over it flung me,

without pause or mercy it flung me

to both sides of the beautiful water -

to both sides

of the knife.

--from West Wind (Mariner Books, 1997)