I have been thinking/ about living/ like the lilies/ that blow in the fields.// They rise and fall/ in the edge of the wind,/ and have no shelter/ from the tongues of the cattle,// and have no closets or cupboards,/ and have no legs./ Still I would like to be/ as wonderful// as the old idea./ But if I were a lily/ I think I would wait all day/ for the green face// of the hummingbird/ to touch me./ What I mean is,/ could I forget myself// even in those feathery fields?/ When Van Gogh/ preached to the poor/ of coarse he wanted to save someone–// most of all himself./ He wasn’t a lily,/ and wandering through the bright fields/ only gave him more ideas// it would take his life to solve./ I think I will always be lonely/ in this world, where the cattle/ graze like a black and white river–// where the vanishing lilies/ melt, without protest, on their tongues–/ where the hummingbird, whenever there is a fuss,/ just rises and floats away.

Mary Oliver

I want to live like a lily, too. I want to bend in the breeze and not break. I want to feel the peace of black and white rivers. I want to be curious and patient. I want to understand others and myself. I want just enough closets and cupboards and legs. (I am not ready to travel too lightly.) I want to be lonely but not feel alone. I want to revel in hummingbird moments. I want memories to live even as I float away.