Wild Geese

You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the moon, those two ancient travelers, are back home again in the sky. Each day, I think about the lives I rescinded, each thought of yours.

I cannot see you, but I hear you. You spoke with the light from the stars last night. It is enough. I can find you in the mystery of the wild geese, of the trees, the lilies. How far they travel across the sky. And I ask you again, where will I find you, love?

• Mary Oliver