Precious Peonies

For Andi....

Peonies

~ Mary Oliver

This morning the green fists of the peonies

are getting ready to break my heart

as the sun rises, as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers and they open ---pools of lace, white and pink ---

and all day the black ants climb over them, boring their deep and mysterious holesinto the curls, craving the sweet sap, taking it awayto their dark, underground cities ---and all day

under the shifty wind, as in a dance to the great wedding, the flowers bend their bright bodies, and tip their fragrance to the air, and rise, their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness gladly

and lightly, and there it is again --- beauty the brave, the exemplary, blazing open. Do you love this world?

Do you cherish your humble and silky life?

Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into

the garden, and softly, and exclaiming of their dearness, fill your arms with the white and pink flowers, with their

honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling, their eagerness

to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are nothing, forever?