Spring by Mary Oliver

” I lift my face to the pale flowers of the rain.

They’re soft as linen, clean as holy water.

Meanwhile, my dog runs off, noses down packed leaves

into damp, mysterious tunnels.

He says the smells are rising now,

stiff and lively; he says the beasts are waking up now full of oil,

sleep, sweat, tag-ends of dreams. The rain rubs its shining hands

all over me.

My dog returns and barks fiercely, he says

each secret body is the richest advisor,

deep in the black earth such fuming nuggets of joy!”