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| jo'b |
Deep enough into the trees,
to where the wind doesn't reach me,
finding the calm
I've sought since childhood
among their heavy shoulders,
away from the shouting,
how they stand over me
circling gently high up,
reaching into the light,
finding at eight
a hint of paradise,
and now I am eighty,
and it is still the same,
deep enough into the trees.
—after Mary Oliver's "Black Oaks"
