(After Mary Oliver, On Traveling to Beautiful Places)

Mary found God everywhere—
dusty flowerbeds, sand under sun,
certainly on distant islands,
each place animated with creatures
and God under different names.

She said it was perfect—
on board the ship she sailed,
the years she lived, pockets full.
But she knew it was late in her burning world,

and in truth, it's late for our world,
for each of us on this ship we sail—
fire in our wake still burning as we go.