The poem
This morning two mockingbirds in the green field were spinning and tossing
the white ribbons of their songs into the air. I had nothing
better to do than listen. I mean this seriously.
In Greece, a long time ago, an old couple opened their door
to two strangers who were, it soon appeared, not men at all,
but gods. It is my favorite story-- how the old couple had almost nothing to give
but their willingness to be attentive-- but for this alone the gods loved them
and blessed them-- when they rose out of their mortal bodies, like a million particles of water
from a fountain, the light swept into all the corners of the cottage,
and the old couple, shaken with understanding, bowed down-- but still they asked for nothing
but the difficult life which they had already. And the gods smiled, as they vanished, clapping their great wings.
Wherever it was I was supposed to be this morning-- whatever it was I said
I would be doing-- I was standing at the edge of the field-- I was hurrying
through my own soul, opening its dark doors-- I was leaning out; I was listening.